


Freedom Is Just Another Word

by wbss21



Category: The Avengers, Thor - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:56:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 60,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2457326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their first trip to Asgard, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark make a startling and dismaying discovery as to the fate of their once enemy, Loki.  In the course, Steve finds himself forming the most unlikely of friendships, and discovering that everything he once thought he knew and understood about Thor's wayward little brother couldn't have been more wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

 

It is perhaps half of an hour past the start of his and Tony’s tour through the palace, after formal meetings and introductions between themselves and Thor’s parent’s, Queen Frigga and the ruler of Asgard, All-Father Odin himself (in which Tony had been his usual, impressively charming self, and Steve had felt the awful return of the shyness and uncertainty of his past), when Steve’s attention is pulled from Thor’s surprisingly gripping and articulate narration to a commotion outside.

They are walking past a row of thick, marble columns, the luxury of which matches and awes in much the same way the rest of the architecture Steve has seen of this place does, seated upon a balustrade of identical stone, opening out into what looks like a plain, dirt floor courtyard. The suns of this realm (and Steve finds himself still struggling to grasp the concept of their being more than one. Only Asgard has four.), is pouring through the columns, creating shafts of bright, almost blinding light, punctuating the otherwise shaded hallway they find themselves in every, few feet. Outside, it washes the courtyard in a blanket of it, no area visibly shielded from the engulfing rays.

It is summer here, Thor says.

And it is hot.

Even Steve finds himself sweating uncomfortably. Though Tony seems more or less unaffected, shielded by the suit and its internal cooling system as he is. Thor, being what he is, a god of sorts, Steve supposes he has to acknowledge at this point, and having grown up here over the course of more than a thousand years, is similarly untroubled by the heat.

But it is none of these things which draws Steve’s attention now, but rather the sound of air being displaced.

Rather, air being cut. 

He recognizes it, from his days with the Howling Commandos, from his infiltration of HYDRA prisoner camps, and the constant background noise of torture.

He knows it’s a whip before the inevitable crack of leather against flesh even reaches his ears, and then there it is, and Steve finds himself stopping, leaning between the balustrades columns and peering out into the courtyard with something like apprehension coiling in his chest.

It doesn’t take long for him to see what he’s looking for in the wide open and otherwise empty expanse of the yard.

Maybe a hundred yards from where he, Tony and Thor stand, very near the center, is a wooden stake, thick around and several feet tall, stuck into the ground. And tied to that stake, by wrists bound by a stained, white cloth of some sort, on his knees and slumped forward against the wood, onto his bare shoulder, is a man, utterly naked, being whipped viciously by another man, stood some feet behind, dressed in the same, golden armor Steve’s seen the other palace guards sporting.

It is, Steve thinks, nothing short of horrific. And he doesn’t even think about it before he’s launching himself over the balustrade and dropping down into the courtyard, running towards the scene.

Somewhere behind him, he hears Tony give a shout, and then Thor’s protest to wait as the sound of Tony’s repulsors fill the air, following the captain into the courtyard.

As he nears the two men, Steve thinks to himself how shocked he is, and then wonders at it, for as advanced as Thor’s culture and world seems, in many respects, they seem too to still practice and rely upon literally ancient methods and ways of life. Things from hundreds, even thousands of years ago in human history.

To see a man, bound helpless and exposed, being flogged relentlessly upon the back, strangely fits with the image of Asgard.

It makes the act no less repulsive to Steve.

“What the hell is going on here?” He asks as he finally reaches the men.

Tony is only a second or two behind, and Steve hears him touch down directly at his side, his own voice presenting the same question, in a more colorful word choice, though there is no humor there. Only the same, horrified disgust Steve himself feels.

“Yeah, what the fuck is this shit?” Tony wants to know.

The man holding the whip has stopped, turning and staring at the two of them as though he cannot understand a word either of them has just said.

And then there is the sound of Thor behind them, landing and striding with quick, almost urgent steps at their backs.

“My friends,” he begins, and there’s something strange in his voice. Something beyond upset. “come away with me now please. We should not be here.”

Steve ignores him, even as Tony turns to address the thunder god, the captain’s eyes moving from the guard to the bound man.

He hasn’t moved from his slumped position, and his face is turned away from them, so Steve can see nothing of whether he’s even heard them or not. 

He’s been whipped so badly, Steve finds himself doubting whether the man is even aware of their presence.

With keen eyes, the captain cannot help but notice the rest of the man’s state, and what discomfort he felt before, what fears and implications his instincts conjured, are only compounded tenfold.

The man is sickeningly thin, as though he has literally been starved. Every rib, every contour of his skeleton, every individual vertebra of his spine, stands out in clear, stark definition against sallow, colorless and paper fine skin. Arms and legs are like sticks, trembling visibly in a failing effort to keep him upright, whatever muscle and fat might once have bolstered them now melted away to nothing.

Upon his head is the blackest hair Steve has ever seen, so black as to seem almost blue in the saturating sunlight, only it has been shorn so short and close to the scalp, there is little point to it at all. Indeed, in patches, the man’s head is bald, revealing the same, pale skin beneath as the rest of his body.

And beyond the torn apart, savaged skin of the man’s bony back, beyond the wash of thick, red blood covering it and pooling slow to the dusty ground beneath, the man’s body is a literal canvas of bruising. 

Deep, ugly contusions marring every inch of his form, from his shoulders down to the calves of his legs. Large swaths of yellow, green, blue, black and red discoloration which speaks all too plainly of brutal beatings suffered. Healing bruises covered by fresh ones, the declaration of those beatings being a constant, regular routine.

Steve doesn’t know who this man is. He doesn’t know what he’s done. But he knows damn well he doesn’t deserve this. 

Whatever this is.

Tony seems intent on finding out.

“No, seriously Thunderstruck, what the hell is this shit? For a supposedly advanced race of super gods or whatever the heck you guys are, this seems, I don’t know, kind of middle ages to me.”

Steve can hear the horror underneath Tony’s glib delivery, and he knows his teammate is as upset as he is.

Thor’s voice, when he answers, is strained, and, Steve thinks, bordering on almost hysterical. It is a bizarre tone, coming from the usual rock solid, booming timbre. 

“Please my friends,” he says. “come away from here and allow this man to continue his duty. We should… should not be here.”

“Continue his duty?!” Tony exclaims, all levity leaving his tone, disgust and disbelief taking it’s place. “You mean torturing a helpless man?”

Steve glances back to the god, and sees Thor’s face lined in such naked dismay, he isn’t sure what to think.

“Th… this man is a slave.” Thor answers, and now his voice is plainly thin, reedy even, as though he may cry, and Steve finds himself only more confused. 

“A slave?” Tony asks. “Right. Okay. So you guys do that, huh? Slavery? Why am I not surprised?”

“Please come away.” Thor tries again, but Steve is turning back towards the bound man when he hears a rasped, choking cough escape him, and sees his entire frame shudder with it.

He is so obviously suffering, not just from the whipping, but from his forced position, wrists raised above where the rest of his body slumps, the strain on his frail limbs clear as they shake uncontrollably.

Suddenly, Steve is all too aware of the heat again, of the oppressive weight of the four suns above them, and it does not escape him then, the way the bound man’s body is lathered in a thick layer of sweat, from head to toe, sluicing off him and useless.

“This man needs help.” He says. “He needs water.”

Automatically, his eyes fall to the guard’s belt, and finds there a water skein. He doesn’t hesitate to step forward and grab the thing from him, ignoring the large man’s indignant yelp of protest, stepping out of reach before the guard can grab it back and uncorking the cap, bringing it to his nose to make sure it in fact holds water and not wine or mead.

Satisfied, he begins to step around, to the bound man’s front.

“My friend, please do not…” he hears Thor begin, but again he ignores the god, continuing in his task. “Steve Rogers, do not…”

That’s as far as Thor’s words reach before the captain finds himself stopped in his tracks, and he stares, unsure at first if what he sees is reality.

Shock follows, sitting heavy in his gut, and thoughtlessly, he takes a step forward.

“Jesus…” he mutters. “Jesus…”

“What?” Absently, he hears Tony’s voice. “What is it? Is he dead or something. Don’t tell me he’s dead.”

“Loki?” Steve breathes, his voice hardly above a whisper, taking another step forward. Suddenly, his legs feel weak, as though his knees may give out any moment.

“Where!?” Tony nearly shouts, whirling, but Steve hardly notices. His eyes remain riveted, horrified to the figure slumped before him on his knees.

It’s Loki. There can be no doubt. Steve would never forget that face.

Only, it’s so much changed.

Beyond gaunt, Steve remembers the prominent, sharply defined cheekbones, but those cheeks are now sunken deeply in, the bone above them jutting and poking against too thin skin, razor like and awful. 

And where Steve remembers fever bright eyes, burning with a frightening intelligence, they now sit within sunken, black rimmed sockets, set too far back in his face, and the formally nearly glowing green of his irises now dulled to something pale and almost translucent, lifeless and distant.

Thin lips are dried to cracked bleeding, gummy looking saliva caked within their corners, speaking again to dehydration and overheating. 

Loki’s face too is bruised as the rest of him, shallow cuts and broken blood vessels littering his visage with a terrible regularity.

He doesn’t see him, Steve doesn’t think, not with the way his eyes remain unfocused and absent, even when the captain drops down to his knees in front of him, directly within his line of sight. If Loki realizes his presence, or recognizes him at all, there is no indication.

Steve hears Tony’s heavy metal steps coming around behind him, and a moment after, he hears his teammate curse, the same shock in himself evident there.

“Jesus Christ, is that…”

Steve swallows, and unconsciously, he reaches forward, unaware of his own trembling hands until he takes hold of their once enemy’s face, gentle as he’s able, and begins to bring the water skein to his lips.

He half expects Loki to resist, to wrench free, recalling the arrogant pride of him when he invaded Earth. And when was that? Christ, it must have been seven, eight years ago now. And Steve wonders suddenly, nauseatingly if Loki has been here, like this, for all that time.

But the god gives no resistance at all. Does nothing at all as Steve presses the nozzle of the skein to his split lips, tipping it upward slowly.

“Please do not… do not…” he hears Thor plead, and an abrupt, consuming anger takes hold the captain’s insides, an emotion he never thought to feel against Thor.

“He needs water.” He hears himself say coldly, but even as the words leave his mouth, the water slips useless against Loki’s own, dribbling down his chin and pooling into the dirt below. Still, Loki continues to stare vacantly through him, seemingly unaware of anything at all.

“Come on.” Steve says. “You have to drink. Come on.”

There comes no response.

There is the sound of footsteps behind him then, Thor’s heavy boots, and then an equally heavy hand upon the captain’s shoulder.

“Please, Steve Rogers, stop. You are… you are only making this more difficult for him. Please.” The thunder god pleads once more.

And Steve can’t hold it in anymore, his own dismay at last catching up to his brain, and he lets Loki go, whirling on Thor and launching to his feet, in the same instant shrugging his teammates hand off of him.

“Making it worse!?” He nearly shouts, distantly shocked at his own rage. From his periphery he sees Tony staring back at him, for once silent. “How?! How can I possibly make this worse! Look… look what you’ve done to him! How is this any way to treat someone?! How is this any way to treat your own… your own brother!?”

In that moment, a look of such raw and naked hurt passes over Thor’s face, and Steve instantly regrets his words, an apology coming, ready to spill from his tongue. But Thor cuts him off before it can be uttered.

“It is not my choice, Steve Rogers.” He says, tone strangely flat. “Please, come away, and I will explain.”

“You’re not just gonna leave him here like this?” Tony at last speaks. “He looks half way dead…”

“And your kindness only worsens his suffering!” Thor finally snaps, his voice rising ominously. Both Steve and Tony fall silent at it, taken aback.

But as quickly as the anger came, it bleeds from the god, and his shoulders sag. Steve sees his eyes flash briefly to Loki, and what hurt he saw before turns to absolute distress, before his gaze flicks aside, and he goes on in a hushed voice.

“Please, I beg you my friends. Trust me when I tell you, you will only cause him greater hurt through your good intentions, for how your kindness will contrast with what he has grown accustomed to. By offering him false hope.”

As if in response to Thor’s terrible words, they hear a near soundless whine below, and turn, seeing Loki has slumped more fully against the stake, the strain on his bound wrists greater.

He’s passed out, Steve realizes, and his heart thuds painfully in his chest.

“He needs to be returned to the slave barracks, my Lord.” The guard suddenly speaks, bowing his head and pressing a fisted hand across his chest as he regards his Prince.

Thor is still staring down at his brother, and there is so much suffering in his own expression, so much impotent longing, and Steve understands all at once that it truly isn’t the thunder god’s choice. That something is keeping him from tearing Loki free from this, despite the more than obvious desire to do so.

Finally, Thor’s eyes move away, his hands clenching to fists at his sides, as he gives a shallow nod.

Steve and Tony can only watch then, as the guard moves forward, having holstered the whip along his belt, and begins to undo the cloth binding Loki’s wrists to the stake.

Loki drops like a stone once that support is gone, falling to the dusty ground in a broken and bloody heap, limp and unmoving, and unceremoniously, the guard hauls him up by the arms, swinging him up onto his shoulders like he weighs nothing at all, before turning and striding away across the courtyard, disappearing moments later beneath an archway, fading into black shadows beyond.

“Come away.” Steve hears Thor say once more, and when he turns, he sees his friend already moving back the way they had come, his strides long and purposeful and angry.

He shares an uncertain glance with Tony, who looks back at him with the expressionless mask of his armor, before silently they agree to do as Thor says, following close on his heels.

The feeling of horror in Steve’s gut is no less for it.

All he can see now is ruined form of Loki, and the blank nothing in his eyes.

All he can think is how he and his team sent Loki to this, and never once did any of them think to ask what had become of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who’s read, favorited, followed and reviewed! It really means the world to me, and it means so much for me to hear from you as well, so if you have a chance, let me know what you think!

Chapter 2:

Over the course of the next week, Steve sees Loki maybe half a dozen times, working around the palace.

He cannot help but start and stare in shock each time he does. Not after what Thor told him and Tony.

Not after witnessing the flogging the god was forced to take in that courtyard, and being explained to that it was a routine occurrence. As recompense for his crimes committed against three separate realms, beyond the mere state of his enslavement itself.

An enslavement, Thor told them, enforced by the All-Father himself, the specifics of which rendered Loki the property, the literal property, of Asgard’s citizenry, to do with as any legal individual here deemed fit, and meant to extend indefinitely, for the entirely of Loki’s natural life-span. A life, as Steve and Tony were made to understand, which would last thousands upon thousands of years, and Steve had felt himself blanch at the mere prospect.

But Loki, when he had been this realms Prince (and it is this fact which perhaps most disturbs Steve, to realize Loki had once been acknowledged as royalty, had once presided rightfully over Asgard as leader and sovereign, only to now find himself stripped not simply of title and rank, but freedom entirely, and any and all rights with it. To go from prince to slave, and all Steve can think of is how impossibly hard that must have been. How utterly humiliating and dehumanizing.), Thor had related to him and Tony that, among the commoners of the city, among the larger populace outside the court, the second son had been unusually well loved. 

At their shocked reactions to this, and obvious disbelief, Thor had smiled sadly, and explained to them of Loki’s once fierce love for his home, and most specifically, its people. How, much to the confusion and dismay of the court and its nobles, and that too of their father, Loki had often spent great quantities of time amongst the lower classes. Spent nights dining with them in their tiny hovels, sitting among them and treating them as equals, and leaving them gifts of gold and gems for their hospitality before departing their company, enough to support them and their families for the entirety of a year’s four seasons. 

The commoners of Asgard had never forgotten the love and care their second Prince had shown to them over the many centuries, and Odin had known to release Loki into their ownership would have resulted in hardly a punishment at all, despite his new legal status. 

But among the courtiers, among the nobility and citizens of rank, among his own, supposed peers, Thor had gone on, Loki had never enjoyed or known such affection. He had always been a pariah of sorts, an outcast, moving along the fringes of their groups, among the shadows, never fitting in. Whispers and rumor regarding Odin’s youngest child ran rampant for centuries, growing more and more malicious the older Loki grew, until, near the end, before he had fallen into the void, the nobilities regard for him had distilled down into barely restrained hostility. Open sneers and snide remarks spoken not to his back, but to his face. Open laughter at his expense. 

Thor had not realized it, he’d said, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, for he’d been too consumed in his own self to ever pay overmuch attention to his little brother. To see how he was suffering under the life he was born into. Or, rather, after discovering Loki’s adoption, the life he’d been “gifted”. It had only become obvious to the thunderer after Loki’s seeming death, and he had, in his grief, seen the almost jubilant expressions and behavior of the court, the almost naked relief among so many of them, to finally be rid of the unwanted, second son.

Never had Thor been more ashamed to call himself Aesir, he’d told them. Never had he felt the murderous desire to end the lives of so many he’d known for ten centuries and more.

And upon the discovery of Loki’s survival, upon his return to Asgard after his failed attempt to win Midgard, almost immediately, their father had declared his sentence, and Loki had been relegated as slave to the inner walls of the palace and, if any should desire it, the individual homes of the nobility, stripped of all titles and rank and worldly possessions. 

He was, now, regarded as less than nothing, worth nothing.

Thor and their Mother, Queen Frigga, had been beside themselves. The Queen in particular had pled with her husband for ceaseless months on end for the freedom of their son, for mercy and leniency. But Odin had been unmoving, and had forbidden either Thor or Frigga interaction of any sort with Loki.

Neither of them of course had intended on following such a directive.

It was only when it was made clear to them it was not they who would suffer the All-Father’s wrath for such disobedience, but Loki, that they began to understand just how powerless they were. Only when they had discovered Loki had been beaten to within an inch of his life for their daring to visit and converse with him, against their King’s command, that they gave up any such attempts.

Upon hearing all of this, Tony had lost what composure he’d had left, and began demanding to see Odin All-Father, acting brazenly as though he would engage in some physical altercation with Thor’s father if that’s what it took to make him see reason.

Thor had fallen into a near panic at the threat, pleading with Tony to calm himself, telling him with ominous tone the All-Father could destroy him with little more than a thought, that he was already barely tolerating their presence in Asgard as was.

It had been Steve who’d at last talked his teammate down, though it had been difficult, frighteningly so.

Subsequently, it had been almost a relief, when Fury had called Tony back to Earth for the next three weeks, something to do with PR relations for the team, leaving the task of diplomatic representation to Steve, the reason for his and Tony’s visit to Asgard to begin with. They’d been meant to stay an entire month.

It’s left the captain mostly on his own, with little more to do than explore the city and interact with its people (so many fewer, Steve hasn’t been able to help but notice, then there are on Earth). His reception has been, while not unfriendly, not exactly what he would call welcoming either. The Asgardians, or the Aesir, Steve’s still not sure of the official word on that, regard him in much the way an adult would regard a very young child. He can see the lack of respect in their eyes when they look upon him. In a few, he’s noted an even obvious disdain and contempt.

They think him inferior.

Ironic, he thinks, for his physical superiority to other humans. But something he’s more than well acquainted with. He has, after all, spent the majority of his conscious life being physically inferior to just about everyone.

Here, on Asgard, he’s very much back in that position.

And so he’s taken to spending most of his time within the palace grounds, nearer to Thor, if for nothing else then familiarity and the knowledge he won’t be looked down upon by his friend and teammate.

And so he’s seen Loki, some half dozen times, working menial, backbreaking tasks about the place, scrubbing floors and walls, down on hands and knees, setting tables and acting as server to gathered guests. At one point, even, in the most uncomfortable and awkward of situations, while eating lunch with Tony out on the balcony of Steve’s borrowed quarters, it had been Loki who had been sent in to serve them, setting their plates and trays and silverware, asking if there was anything else he could do to be of assistance.

Steve and Tony both had nearly choked on their drinks when they’d seen him walk in, carrying their food. Steve still doesn’t know who had assigned Loki the task, and both of them hadn’t been able to keep themselves from staring openly. 

Steve had felt such paralyzing tension, he hadn’t even been able to speak, and such almost suffocating guilt, as he’d taken in the clothes Loki wore, if they could even be called such. Literal rags, utterly threadbare and worn with holes, several sizes too large for Loki’s skeletal frame, hanging off him in huge swaths of dirtied, cheap fabric, his feet bare and caked in filth, while he and Tony had been gifted with clothes of such finery and high quality make, even Tony had been impressed.

Loki had spoken not a single word but to offer his services, had made eye contact with neither of them, and Tony hadn’t been able to keep it in any longer, blurting out, bluntly, if Loki even remembered them. He’d given absolutely no indication that he had. 

For that brief instant, Loki’s eyes has risen to them, and in them, Steve had seen a glimpse of that same, wicked intelligence he remembered from before, that same, almost terrifying perceptiveness.

But then Loki’s gaze had lowered back to the floor, and he’d said nothing in reply but to ask again if he could be of assistance.

Since then, Steve has found himself unable to put his former enemy from his mind.

Has since taken to following Loki whenever he’s spotted him, being sure to keep his distance and his presence secret, lest he cause some sort of upset.

Which is what, presently, he finds himself occupied with.

He tries to squash the feeling of guilt which rises in his gut at it, the vague notion that he’s somehow violating Loki in some way, by watching him now, observing him in such a low place.

But Steve’s concern for the god is what keeps him here. Christ, he can’t believe it, but he wants desperately to help Loki in some way. He doesn’t even know how. Doesn’t know what he could do without causing an inter-realm war between Earth and Asgard, and frankly, he doesn’t give Earth much of a chance in such a battle, if what he’s seen of this place is any indication.

But God, Loki is so broken, and Steve feels his heart may fail at the sight of it.

He hides now behind one of the massive support columns holding the ceiling of the palace aloft, some hundred feet or so away from where Loki sits on hands and knees, scrubbing determinedly with a small brush at a single spot on the seemingly spotless and gleaming floor. He’s been at it for the last fifteen minutes, Steve thinks, relentless and silent.

Steve feels his chest tighten at the thought of how hard on Loki’s back the work must be.

He hasn’t failed to notice the difficulty with which the god now moves. 

He remembers how easy and confident and graceful Loki’s movement had been before. How powerful and quick.

Loki walks slowly now. Gets up from a crouch with obvious effort. In place of his straight backed posture of before, he now is slightly hunched at the shoulders and spine, and there is an awful stiffness and deliberateness to the way he moves his limbs which speaks plainly to him being in a great deal of pain.

Steve also has not failed to notice the grimaces of discomfort which at times flash across the god’s face if he goes too quickly at something.

The captain wonders with a morbid curiosity if the damage to Loki is permanent. If he will ever be able to move with the same, easy fluidity he once had ever again.

In the rational part of his mind, he doesn’t think so, and for some reason, that makes him feel unspeakably sad.

He watches that same damage in action now, as finally, Loki sits up straight from his hunched position, examining his work closely for several, long seconds, before at last, he seems satisfied, tossing the brush he’d been using back into a wooden bucket filled with water and soap, before pushing himself slowly back onto his feet, standing straight with plain difficulty, making sure to take the bucket up before doing so to avoid having to bend and reach back down.

He stands there then, unmoving, head bent and body seemingly relaxed, as though lost in thought.

Steve’s eyes move to the by now familiar band of silver adorned along Loki’s right wrist, something he hadn’t noticed the first time he’d seen him, being whipped outside in that courtyard, he realizes because Loki’s wrists had been covered by the cloth binding him to the stake. 

Not for the first time, the captain finds himself wondering at it’s meaning, if it’s some sort of indicator as to Loki’s status now or something else. He’s noticed the inscriptions upon it, some runic language which he cannot read.

“Soldier, why do you shadow me so?”

Steve nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of Loki’s voice, dry and cracked from disuse, his heart thudding, at once, wildly in his chest.

How did… How could he…

Steve had been sure he’d kept himself hidden and quiet. Had taken every precaution…

Loki has not moved from his position, his head still bowed and standing perfectly still, bucket held in his left hand.

Steve swallows, wondering frantically if he should acknowledge the question or if he should just slip away, and leave Loki be, as Thor had entreated him. As he knows he probably should, before causing trouble.

As he struggles with it, Loki seems to make the decision for him, at last lifting his head and turning to face Steve’s very direction.

“Please, if you would come out from behind that column.” He says again.

Steve’s eyes close, his face unexpectedly heating as he realizes he’s been caught.

He doesn’t know what he expected. Or what he expects now. But there’s no use is pretending otherwise.

Bracing himself, taking a deep breath, he steps out from behind the column, keeping his shoulders squared and his gaze intently forward.

Loki looks back at him, motionless, saying nothing for long seconds, until Steve begins to feel himself grow more uneasy, fighting the sudden urge to fidget and look away.

For as broken and low as the god has been brought, Steve realizes with no little shock, he hasn’t lost any of his bearing.

For a moment, Loki’s chin lifts, and he looks every inch the imperial, would-be world conqueror of before, and for an instant, incongruously, Steve feels a kind of intimidation, before pressing it down and hardening his stance, refusing to look away.

Belatedly, Loki’s address comes back to his mind, and realizes the god does remember him then.

His mouth opens, ready to speak, but before he can, Loki is again talking.

“You have been trailing me these last, several days Captain.” And here he steps forward, strangely commanding, and Steve feels himself tense further, realizing his own failure at keeping himself discreet. “Why?” Loki continues, taking another step forward. “Do you seek vengeance upon me? Does not my present place satisfy your sense of justice? Or do you think it too soft a punishment, and wish instead to see my life ended?”

Another step forward, and Loki suddenly drops the bucket in his hand, the thing crashing to the floor and spilling its contents as the god spreads his arms at his sides, presenting himself.

“If that be your purpose here, soldier, you will find little resistance from me. Only do so quickly, before you are discovered where you are not permitted and kept from your task.”

Steve gapes at him then, blinking, unable at first to process what he’s just heard, what it is he’s seeing.

He doesn’t even know how to respond to it, and so ends up simply standing there, mouth ajar as he struggles to find his words.

He takes too long, apparently, as Loki’s arms lower then back to his sides, his shoulders sagging abruptly, as though suddenly, overwhelmingly weary.

His piercing gaze at last flits away, and when next he speaks, his voice is flat and quiet enough to be near soundless.

“Or perhaps you will find satisfaction in the simple reporting of my insubordination in daring to speak thus out of turn? I think you will not come away disappointed, if you choose such a course.”

Steve feels abruptly breathless, as his mind catches up to Loki’s words, to what it is he’s saying.

“Wh-what?” He stammers disbelievingly. “No, what?”

He shakes his head, a sudden kind of horror gripping hard his insides.

“No, I… Jesus, that isn’t why…” again, he shakes his head, a sudden, consuming helplessness spreading through him. “I only thought, I wanted…”

And Loki looks back to him now, his mouth turning down at the corners, frowning at him, something like disappointment flitting across his features.

“Ah,” he says, eyes once more slipping away. “pity then.” He shakes his head. “Please don’t. You will only find it a wasted thing, better saved for one more deserving.”

Steve can only stare back, again words escaping him, and somehow he feels he’s letting something slip away, that he’s failing at something vital.

Loki begins to turn away then, and without thinking, Steve reaches out a hand.

“Wait…” he starts, abruptly panicked feeling.

“I entreat, if you will allow me return to my duties?” Loki interrupts. “I am not permitted the right to speak, and they will beat me if they find me conversing with you.”

At this, any words that had been ready at the tip of Steve’s tongue die, his hand falling to his side like a stone.

He watches then, as dropping to his knees with obvious pain, Loki reaches down to the hem of his loose fitted tunic, and pulls it up, over his head, his back to the captain.

Steve’s breathe catches harsh in his throat, and he cannot hold the sharp gasp which slips from between his teeth at the sight. Without the wash of blood to hide them from view, Loki’s back is a map of scars.

So many as to be impossible to count, thick and thinly cut strips of badly healed tissue, crossed and crisscrossed and lapped again and again across each other. There is scarcely an area free of them, the scars rippling and shifting grotesquely with each small movement the god makes. So extensive is the damage, the captain thinks the expanse of Loki’s back must be now free of any sensation.

Steve doesn’t know whether to be relieved at the reality, for how it may spare Loki further pain, or sickened, with the knowledge of how many beatings at the end of a whip it must have taken to turn Loki’s back into one, giant mass of scar tissue.

He doesn’t even think to question why Loki’s removed his shirt at all until he snaps from his horror and sees the god wiping the spilt contents of the wooden bucket up with it, going over the puddle two, three times, wringing the tattered tunic out over the bucket before wiping the rest of it up and doing the same.

And he can only continue to watch in despairing silence, as afterwards, Loki pulls the same, filthy shirt on over his head, without hesitation, without thought. As though it’s perfectly normal, that his own, meager wears should double too as rags to clean. 

Can only watch, as the man he once called enemy struggles back to his feet, and walks, without further word, stiffly away, disappearing a moment later round a corner, leaving Steve to choke on the doubt filling his head.

On the question of what it is, that separates Loki from them, that it should be thought criminal, the gods own actions, but in the same span, their own, vile cruelty be deemed just and fair and right.

//


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been three days more since Steve’s last encounter with Loki, and he hasn’t seen Thor’s younger brother a single time since.

He can’t help the sickening churn of worry that roils in his gut at the knowledge. He keeps hearing Loki’s last words to him, telling him he would be beaten if he was found talking to… to anyone.

The captain can’t help but wonder if their interaction was somehow discovered. If Loki was punished for it, and that’s why… that’s why he hasn’t seen…

He shakes his head, trying to clear it of the thought. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself, he doesn’t think, if he somehow, inadvertent or not, got Loki into trouble.

He wants to ask Thor after him. Wants to make sure he’s okay. But he’s seen the way Thor reacts whenever his brother is mentioned. Sees the unspeakable pain and suffocating guilt wash over his features.

Steve doesn’t want to cause his friend any more hurt.

Absently, he lifts a piece of fruit to his lips, chewing mechanically as he moves through the palace halls.

He’d just gotten through with a run round the main wall lining the city’s perimeter, a good twelve or thirteen miles, he thinks. 

The air up here in Asgard seems a little bit thinner than back home (and frankly, Steve was shocked by his ability to breathe in such a completely alien atmosphere at all but, well, magic or something). In honestly though, he likes it, for the slightly greater challenge it presents him.

It’s invigorating in a way like nothing else, to finally feel like he has to push himself, to feel his lungs burn, if even just a little.

Though it had left him actually famished afterwards, and he’d found himself making a straight path towards the dining hall, where he knew the long tables would already be filled with tray upon tray of ridiculously fine and flavorful food. One thing Steve’s sure he’ll miss about this place once he leaves. The food. 

Thor’s friend, Volstagg, had been there when he’d shown up. A massive mountain of a man, several inches taller than even Thor himself, and about three times as wide. Steve can’t help but chuckle to himself at the contradiction of the god’s frankly intimidating stature and girth with his beyond jovial, effusive personality. Of all of Thor’s companion’s, he thinks the fat man to be by far the most personable. 

Steve had asked him if it would be alright if he took a plate of food with him, after spending near to an hour just sitting there, eating and conversing with the man, explaining to him that he was still incredibly hungry but that he also had so much more of the palace to explore (the place is so massive, he doesn’t think he could get through each room if he were to spend an entire year doing nothing but that). Volstagg had laughed mightily, slapping Steve on the back and nearly knocking him on his face in the process, exclaiming how happy he was to finally meet a man with an appetite to match his own (though Steve hadn’t had the heart to tell him he thought that rather a hefty exaggeration), relating how he took whole trays of food from the dining hall all the time, and no one would think twice of it.

Steve had thanked him appreciatively before taking his leave, and now here he finds himself, eating and walking, and hoping he doesn’t look too piggish to the stone still guards lining each corridor and standing sentry before an endless stream of massive, beautifully carved double doors, leading to a matching endless stream of gargantuan rooms beyond.

Steve thinks how absurdly easy it would be, to become lost in the maze of it all, and is in truth shocked that he hasn’t found himself so more than a handful of times thus far.

He’s just taking another bite of fruit as he rounds another corner, into another long stretch of hallway, when he looks up and nearly drops the plate of food in his left hand.

His eyes widen and for a moment, he forgets there’s anything in his mouth as it hangs open.

There, only a few, short feet away, seated on the edge of a balustrade and leaning bodily against one of the large columns lining it, is Loki.

He’s still, slumped in obvious exhaustion, eyes closed and chest rising and falling in a slow, shallow pattern, lips slightly parted.

Steve finally remembers himself, his mouth closing as he swallows the food there thickly. He can feel his heartbeat speed faster, and he doesn’t even know why he feels so suddenly nervous.

He keeps staring at Loki, expecting the god to say something, to acknowledge him in some way, but Loki just keep sitting there, unmoving and silent, and Steve abruptly realizes he’s sleeping.

He wonders if he should go, and leave Loki be.

But then he thinks of what will happen to the god, if someone should come by and find him like this, and he feels at once queasy with the prospect.

Almost unconsciously, he takes a step forward, trying to think of how best to wake Loki, if even he should. Christ, he must be so tired, Steve thinks and it feels somehow, horribly wrong, to deprive Loki of what is no doubt badly needed rest.

Only soon as the thoughts slip through his mind, the choice is taken out of his hands, as his heel strikes softly against the marble floor, and like a rocket, Loki suddenly, violently, startles awake.

Maybe in a movie, the scene might be prime comic material.

In real life, it’s nothing but heart-wrenchingly awful.

Loki falls from the balustrade. Literally falls from it, crashing to the hard stone floor with an audible impact which makes Steve wince. And then the god is scrambling madly, feet and hands slipping as he struggles desperately to push himself up, falling back to his face repeatedly before at last he finds some kind of purchase and straightens to standing.

Even from a short distance, Steve can see Loki is trembling viciously, his hands curled to shaking fists at his sides, chest rising and falling in a rapid, uneven rhythm, and his eyes trained fixedly upon the floor, head bowed, the position so plainly subservient it makes Steve’s heart ache. 

The god stands stock still but for the tremors through his painfully frail frame, and Steve realizes abruptly and with overwhelming dismay that Loki thinks he must be one of the guards. 

A guard that’s just found him passed out in the middle of a corridor. 

Any thought of how Loki may have appeared in their last encounter, regal, proud, intimidating, slips from the captains mind like sand through a sieve, and he’s hit with the brutal realization that it was all an act.

Some sort of… some sort of defense.

What he’s seeing now is the plain and ugly reality.

Steve swallows painfully, struggling for long seconds trying to decide what to do, and in those moments, Loki does not move.

His frame is wound so tight though, the captain can see, he looks like he will break apart at the joints, and suddenly, powerfully, Steve wants to reassure Loki. To make him understand he has nothing to fear from him.

And so again, he steps forward, almost instantly regretting it when Loki flinches violently back at the movement before he falls still again, face remaining bowed to the floor.

“Loki, it’s just me.” Steve calls out, raising his hands in front of him in a gesture of peace. “It’s just me.”

At the sound of his voice, he sees Loki flinch again, though not quite so pronouncedly, and for long moments, nothing further happens, the god’s eyes still trained down.

The captain is beginning to think again of saying something to calm him, when slowly, at last, Loki’s face lifts, if just slightly, his gaze finding Steve and fixing upon him.  
Still, his chest rises and falls too quickly, on the verge of hyperventilation, and Steve sees him swallow thickly, the too thin column of his throat bobbing visibly with the motion.

For seconds which seem to stretch into forever, Loki continues to stare openly at him, Steve still with his hands out in front of him, motionless, as though trying to approach a skittish horse.

And then, abruptly, Loki spins around and begins to walk as quickly as he’s able away from him.

“No, wait!” Steve calls unthinkingly, jogging forward after him, and then stopping quickly when he realizes it. “Wait!” He calls again.

Loki halts, as though he’s just been given a command, and Steve watches the line of his narrow shoulders rise and fall in quick succession, his breathing still sped by fear.

He says nothing, and does not move, his head once more bowed.

Steve hesitates.

He isn’t even sure what he’s doing. What it is he thinks he’ll accomplish by this.

But he can’t bear any longer to just stand by and watch Loki suffer like this. He can’t square it with his own conscience. 

He takes another step forward, and watches as Loki’s already impossibly ridged frame stiffens further.

“I…” the captain starts, voice unsure. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I was taking a walk around the palace. I didn’t know you were here and…”

He stops, realizing what an idiot he must sound like.

He clenches his jaw, dropping his gaze from Loki’s back. 

It’s then he catches sight of the still mostly full plate of food in his left hand, and he’s struck by sudden, guilt-driven inspiration.

He looks back up to the god, seeing with renewed emphasis just how horribly thin he is, seeing again how the rags he has for clothes hang off him like a tent, his pants barely held up by a cord of rope tied haphazardly round his grossly thin waist. 

Again, the captain swallows, and takes another step forward.

“I… I have some food here if… i-if you maybe wanted some.” He says.

He isn’t sure what sort of reaction he’s expecting. 

He doesn’t know what to think when, after a long, uncomfortable moment, Loki at last moves, raising a fisted hand to his mouth and holding it there.

Steve thinks he’s biting down on it, though he can’t be sure, standing at the god’s back as he is.

And then, suddenly, the hand drops, and Loki straightens, standing to his full height, and Steve is reminded again of how tall the god is. A good two or three inches taller than him even.

“Thank you,” Loki speaks, and his voice is rough like sandpaper, barely at the volume of a whisper, and trembling noticeably. “you are very kind, but no…”

Steve bites his lip.

Loki needs the food.

Jesus, he needs it badly.

He looks like he’s literally wasting away to nothing, and the captain wonders how it is the god even finds the strength to stand.

He can’t in good conscience continue to let Loki go hungry after he’s spent the last hour stuffing himself to past full. Not after he’s seen the absurd abundance of food laid out day after day upon the long tables in the feasting hall.

“Please,” he insists against the voice in his head telling him he should stop. 

He moves forward then, walking around Loki to face him.

Again, Loki’s frame goes painfully ridged, and his eyes avert, back to the floor.

“You need this more than I do.” Steve goes on, handing the plate of food out towards the god.

For a moment, he sees Loki’s green eyes flit up to the proffered tray, and there is such naked want in that gaze for an instant, Steve can feel his own eyes sting with sudden, overwhelming emotion.

Loki is literally starving to death, he realizes. 

Only a god can’t die from starvation, Thor’s told them. 

They feel hunger pangs as deeply and acutely as any human, but no matter how bad they grow, they won’t die from it, and the sudden realization of how truly horrific that is, to be deprived of food, to feel the anguish of hunger, but to never be able to perish from it, it is a torture beyond anything Steve can even begin to conceive. 

And then Loki’s eyes slip away again, and he shakes his head, his face drawing tight and pained.

Up close, Steve can see fresh bruises, bloomed deep and ugly across both of the god’s cheekbones, his left eye blackened and slightly swollen.

He’s been beaten again recently, and Steve is torn between such consuming despair and the sudden and suffocating desire to bash somebody’s skull in.

“I cannot…” he hears Loki say, voice just as rough and soft.

“You can.” Steve presses. “I say you can. Come on.”

Again, Loki shakes his head.

“I am not per…” he swallows again with clear difficulty. “I am not permitted foodstuff not intended directly for my person. If I am found out…”

“You won’t be. Loki, come on. There’s nobody here but the two of us. No one’s going to find out.”

Steve doesn’t know why he’s suddenly pushing so hard for this. Only knows that he’s determined Loki needs to eat, and he’s not going to let him refuse this.

Loki’s eyes lift to him then, watching his face, studying it, and once more, the captain is struck by the discomfiting perceptiveness in that gaze.

It gives the impression of being looked straight through to the core, like being stripped bare of any and all defenses, and again, it is a struggle not to look away.

“Heimdall.” Loki says then.

Steve blinks, for a moment confused.

“Heimdall may be watching.” Loki goes on when he sees the bemusement. 

Steve straightens, understanding coming to him then. His jaw tightens, teeth grinding together.

Thor has told him of Heimdall’s seeming vendetta against Loki. How often Asgard’s gatekeeper has gone out of his way to report any and every action of the once second Prince he deems at all suspicious or out of line.

Of how those reports have, more than once, led to Loki’s being flogged or subjected to some otherwise humiliating punishment.

At the memory, Steve only feels his resolve harden.

“I’ll tell them I forced you to do it.” He says suddenly, and Loki’s eyes momentarily flash with surprise. “I’ll tell them I demanded it. I’ll take the blame, if they want to get weird.” He holds the plate out closer. “You need to eat.”

Loki watches his face a long moment more, before his gaze drops once again to the offered food, and Steve can visibly see the god’s resolve cracking. Can see him swallow, and, unconsciously he thinks, lick his dried lips.

And again, his eyes lift to the captain’s face.

He says nothing, but there is a silent plea in Loki’s eyes, a request for permission.

Steve can’t help but smile at him, nodding his head and holding the plate closer still.

Loki glances back then, over his shoulder, scanning the hallway, and then finally, blessedly, with shaking hands, he reaches up to the plate, long, pale fingers struggling a moment as they fumble over a hunk of buttered bread.

He looks to Steve one last time before lifting it from the plate, and again, Steve nods.

“It’s alright.” He promises. “You can have it.”

And it’s like some kind of dam breaking.

Loki needs no further prompting. He takes up the bread with desperate, frantic motion and brings it to his lips, biting into it almost ravenously, and then again, and again, until his mouth is filled to bursting before he even begins to chew.

As he does, his eyes slip closed, and Steve can see moisture gathering at their corners.

He feels his heart drop like a stone in his stomach.

He’s never seen anything like this.

Never seen this kind of suffering.

Even with all the atrocities he’d witnessed within those HYDRA POW camps, there’d been nothing like this…

And suddenly he has to look away, overcome.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, watching the plain and broken relief something so simple, so essential and basic to any standard of living brings to Loki now.

The captain’s own eyes burn, and he has to clench his jaw to keep from shouting in sudden, consuming rage.

Loki continues to assault the bread, oblivious, for once, to anything else around him, until, at last, he seems to slow down, and when Steve looks back, he’s almost shocked to see even half the loaf still remains.

The god looks suddenly, painfully self-conscious, his eyes too bright and looking every place but where the captain stands before finally settling at his feet. He lifts a still unsteady hand, wiping the back of it against his mouth, as though suddenly remembering his manners, as though suddenly he feels ashamed at his own lack of proper conduct.

Steve wants badly to tell him he has nothing to be ashamed of at all.

“Th… thank you.” He says in a half-whisper.

And the genuine gratitude there, in his voice, the utter sincerity of it, and the underlying despair, leaves Steve almost breathless in his shock.

To hear such a thing directed at him, from this man. From a man who once tyrannized his home, the people of his planet. Who had seemed to Steve then nothing but an egomaniacal lunatic, vicious and violent in nature. 

There is nothing of that in Loki now.

Nothing of that arrogance or cruelty.

There is, bizarrely, a humbleness in him, some sort of quiet reserve and thoughtfulness, even a shyness.

And suddenly Steve remembers Thor telling him, telling all of them, of what Loki had been like, as a boy, growing up. 

Telling them his little brother had been quiet and kind and soft. Gentle even. That he had been extraordinarily studious, frighteningly intelligent and strangely patient for a child, but sometimes so painfully withdrawn and shy, and he’d had such incredible difficulty ever making friends.

Suddenly, Steve sees all of that, as impossible and improbable as it had before seemed to him and the rest of his team.

Suddenly he sees it.

And he feels his throat constrict at the recognition of something not definable in terms of simple good or evil, black or white, human or monster.

He sees in Loki a man, an actual, living being. No longer some faceless villain, no longer a soulless, distant archetype of cartoon creation.

He can no longer pretend Loki is without heart or feeling.

He can no longer consign him to that role, see him as just a target to take down.

“It’s alright.” Steve says, and forces himself not to reach out a place a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “It was nothing.”

Loki shakes his head, and for an instant, some raw and devastated emotion twists his brow, and it strikes the captain how young the god looks. Despite his battered and bruised face, he looks like hardly more than a boy in that moment.

“No, it…” he hesitates, swallowing, his eyes flicking up to meet Steve’s own. “I…you have shown me a kindness,” his eyes flit away again. “and I…”

Whatever Loki had been about to say, it never makes it past his lips, as suddenly there comes the sound of raucous laughter from around the corridors bend, and heavy boots on marble.

Loki’s eyes widen in unhidden terror, and in a matter of moments, his finally calming state ricochets back to now uncontrollable trembling.

The half-eaten hunk of bread he holds slips from spasming fingers, falling with a soft thwap against the ground, just as the laughter cuts, and a rumbling voice calls out…

“Well, what have we here?”

If Steve hadn’t realized before that Loki’s calm and confident demeanor had been a mask, he’d be absolutely sure now, as he watches the god literally curl in on himself, shoulders and back hunching, shortening his height by some several inches, face turning down and arms tucked in firm and close against his sides. 

He’s made himself entirely smaller, and Steve feels his stomach lurch in sickening apprehension as his eyes move past him and take in the forms of two, massive men, dressed in the same gold of the royal guard, coming directly for them, grinning wide, unpleasant smiles.

Steve straightens up, the opposite of Loki, trying to make himself seem large as possible, though he knows still the crown of his head will barely reach the tips of these two men’s chins.

He steps around, intending to intercept them, to keep them away, but it’s as if he isn’t even there, the two of them brushing right past him and rounding on Loki, pinning him on either side of their thickly built frames.

Between them, Loki looks smaller and frailer than ever.

The one who’d called out runs a critical eye up and down Loki’s length, a cruel smirk twisting his lip, before his gaze falls to the ground, to the hunk of bread dropped at Loki’s bare feet.

Steve feels his chest twist in sudden, acute fear.

“That’s mine!” He blurts, unthinking.

The guard lifts his eyes, at last looking to Steve, regarding him for barely a moment before his gaze flits back to Loki, and then down to the bread again.

Loki is shaking viciously now, saying nothing, fists white knuckled at his sides.

And then the guard is bending, taking up the bread with thick fingers and straightening, holding it in front of his face as though to examine it.

“Hmm,” he begins, almost thoughtfully, before returning his eyes to the smaller god. “did you eat this?” He asks, and Steve feels abruptly as though he may be sick.

“It’s mine.” He repeats, and he knows he’s panicking, he knows he’s shooting blind here, but he doesn’t know what else to do. “I told you. I dropped it and Loki was helping me to clean it up.”

Again, the guard’s eyes move to him, cold and unmoved.

“Loki?” He asks. “Who’s that?”

Steve blinks, taken aback and confused.

Before he can reply, the guard turns to his companion.

“Do you know of anyone by that name?” He asks, tone light and conversational, and it’s one of the most disgusting things Steve thinks he’s ever witnessed.

“I cannot say that I do.” The second guard replies, with just as much levity.

Steve’s hands ball to fists as the first guard looks again to Loki, the slight smile melting away from his mouth.

“I’ll only ask once more, slave.” He says, holding the bread inches from Loki’s face. “Did you eat this?”

Long seconds stretch in agonizing silence, Steve’s eyes fixed to Loki’s shuddering back, and he already knows what he’s going to say, already feels the suffocating dread building in his chest.

And then Loki gives a single, stiff nod of his head.

“A-aye.” He replies, so softly, Steve almost doesn’t hear.

The sharp crack of the guard’s palm slapping Loki across the mouth echoes through the hallway, and Steve’s eyes widen. 

He steps forward without thinking.

“Hey!” He snaps loudly, but again, he goes ignored.

“Speak up, slave. I cannot hear you.” 

Another, long moment passes in silence, and Steve hears Loki speak, more loudly, voice trembling as the rest of him.

“A-aaye.” He repeats.

He hardly gets the word past his lips before the guard grabs hold the collar of his tunic and spins him about, shoving him back several feet, until Loki’s back hits the wall hard.

Loki’s eyes are wide and terrified, riveted on the man before him, but he makes no move to defend himself as the second starts laughing, and the first leans into him, hand still fisted in the material of his shirt.

“Then allow me to assist you.” He grins, and suddenly he lets go the tunic and has his wide hand palming the back of Loki’s skull, meaty fingers digging in to the short hair and holding him easily in place as the other hand lifts, still holding the bread.

Steve’s eyes widen in horror as he watches the guard drive the bread into Loki’s mouth, forcing it violently past his lips, fingers following, shoving their way in.

Loki begins to choke and sputter, flailing uselessly in the guard’s grip, and Steve can’t watch this anymore.

“HEY!” He shouts again, already launching himself forward.

In an instant, he has his hands on the guard’s arm, yanking it down and away from Loki.

Already though he can feel the absurd strength in the man’s frame. Already he knows, no matter how capable or powerful he is for a human, he’s still only that.

He has no real shot at fighting this guy off.

The guard turns to look at him, for the first time really looking, anger evident on his broad features.

His other hand is still palming the back of Loki’s head, and Loki is staring with panicked, frightened eyes between the two of them.

“This is no concern of yours mortal.” The guard begins, dismissive, even as his gaze boils with disgust.

Steve lifts his chin, pressing down the apprehension coiling up through his insides. 

“It is.” He shoots back, voice confident in a way he doesn’t at all feel. “I told you I dropped the bread. Loki was helping me to clean it…”

He’s cut sort by a sharp bark of laughter, erupting from the guard’s throat.

“Foolish man.” He says. “The slave admitted himself to partaking. Are you accusing him then of lying?”

At that, Steve falters, realizing too late the folly of his own intervention.

“I…” he starts, stammering to find the words.

The guard only looks back at him impassively, waiting.

And then a low, almost soundless whimper slips past Loki’s lips, choked off midway.

It’s all it takes for the guard to backhand him, a vicious, violent strike which snaps Loki’s head all the way to the side, splitting his lip wide.

“NO!” Steve yells, fury rushing through him like a wave. “STOP IT!” He once more takes hold the guards arm, thoughtlessly.

The man shoves him off as though he were a child, and Steve is reminded brutally of what it used to feel like, when he was weaker than everyone else. When he wasn’t strong enough to defend himself, and Bucky… Bucky had to…

“He’s your Prince!” He cries, desperation beginning to fog his thoughts. “Jesus, doesn’t that mean anything to you!? How can you treat him this way?!”

“Prince?!” The guard exclaims, eyes widening, before his face twists into a disgusted sneer. “This Jotun runt is no prince of mine!” He snarls angrily.

“What is wrong with you!?” Steve shouts back, panic worsening as he realizes there’s little he can do. As he realizes this is his fault. “With both of you?!” He asks, almost pleads, looking between the two guards.

And the anger melts suddenly from the first’s expression, replaced by one of almost thoughtfulness.

His head cocks to the side, seeming to study the captain.

“You truly care for this creature then?” He asks, sounding astonished.

Steve can only stare back at him, uncertain how to respond.

“Hmm.” The guard goes on. “Well then…”

And suddenly, without warning, his hand lets go, and quicker than Steve can really follow, he takes hold Loki’s face and drives his head back, smashing his skull with a sickening crack against the thick, marbled wall, so hard, fissures rivet up from the point of impact.

The guard lets go, stepping away, and like a sack of stones, Loki collapses to the floor into a limp and lifeless heap, knocked completely unconscious. 

Tangled in the short strands of his black hair, already Steve can see the glistening red of blood where his scalp and skull have been split open.

“No!” He chokes, falling forward to gather Loki up, to help him.

But before he can even drop to his knees, he feels himself being pulled back against a broad chest and locked in the iron grip of arms far stronger than his own.

“Ah, ah,” the first guard says, waving a disapproving finger as the second holds him still. “this isn’t your affair to interfere in mortal. You’ve no say in this place.”

Steve struggles madly against the hold, but he’s getting nowhere, and he can only watch in despair as the man bends to his knees at Loki’s side, flipping him more fully onto his stomach and grinning down at his unconscious form.

“You’ll learn soon enough what your meddling yields for the false-prince.” The guard says, and Steve’s eyes widen in horror as the man procures a piece of thick looking cord from a pouch on his belt, proceeding then to wrench Loki’s arms cruelly behind his back, securing his wrists to his ankles, unceremoniously hog tying him before lifting him easily up onto his shoulders, carrying him like a sack.

“No! Stop it! STOP IT!” Steve cries, renewing his struggles.

But it’s no use. He simply isn’t strong enough to break the second guard’s hold.

The first turns, grinning at Steve perversely, nodding to his companion. At it, the captain is finally let go.

“Stop this!” Steve pleads again. “Please. This is my fault. Alright? I’m the one who lied! Don’t punish him! It was me!”

“Too late for that mortal.” The guard carrying Loki says.

Steve feels abruptly nauseous, dizzy.

“Please. What are you going to do to him?” His voice shakes with the question.

“Heh. Nothing he hasn’t been through a thousand times previous.” The guard laughs. “Tie him up in the town square, let the locals have a bit of a go at him.”

Tears sting abruptly at the backs of Steve’s eyes, his head shaking in terrified denial.

“Please don’t do this.” He begs one last time, even as he knows now it will do no good. “Please.”

“It’s as much your lesson as it is his, mortal.” The guard replies without emotion. “Come Fen, let us take our leave.”

The second guard says nothing, simply falling into step behind his companion.

Leaving Steve behind to watch, hands tangling in his hair.

He’s drowning, suddenly.

He can’t breathe.

“What have I done?” He says to no one. “Oh God, what have I done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a massive, massive thank you to all my readers and reviewers and everyone who’s following this story. I can never tell you enough how much I appreciate your support. I hope you continue to enjoy the story, and if you have a moment, let me know your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

They wait until nightfall.

Only a few hours from the time Loki was taken, but still, Steve had been near frantic with worry, unable for a moment to sit still, to stop pacing and wringing his hands and asking again and again if there was no way for them to act sooner.

But Thor had been clear.

He’d said they would have to wait until after dark, if they hoped to whisk Loki away with less risk of resistance or danger to the younger god.

How Thor could have held such patience, how he had found it within himself, after the explosion of anger Steve had come face to face with upon finding him and telling him of what had happened, the captain still does not know.

It is, Steve thinks, the first time he has ever felt truly afraid of the thunder god.

He thinks maybe he should have understood to be before.

“Did I not tell you your interference would only worsen his suffering!?” He had shouted, and with it, a clap of thunder so loud had cracked across the sky, it had rumbled the very foundations of the palace.

Steve had practically begged his forgiveness, even while thinking desperately in the back of his mind it was Loki whom he needed to express his regret to, trying desperately to explain what had happened, what his intentions had been, and eventually, Thor had calmed, at least towards him.

His agitation had been apparent though, even in his ability to wait, massive, meat hook hands fisting and unfisting at his sides, constantly palming the handle of his hammer slung to his hip, as though itching for some sort of action.

Steve had absolutely launched to his feet then when, at last, blessedly, Thor had announced it was time to move.

Only any and all built up enthusiasm dies a swift death as they make their way into the mostly abandoned center of the town square, only a sparse, few people wandering about, and see, hung limp from a kind of stone slab erected there, his arms stretched fully and bound above his head, Loki, head slumped with his chin rested upon his chest.

Even in only the muted glow of moonlight and the few, flickering torchlight’s dotting the area, Steve can see Loki’s loose clothes torn and what looks to be soaked through with some dark liquid. 

Littered around him in a half-circle are innumerable stones, ranging in size from no bigger than a walnut to at least as large as Steve’s fist.

Before the captain can begin to piece together what he’s seeing in his mind, Thor is already rushing forward towards his unmoving brother.

“Bor’s bones, no…” he chokes out, Steve fast on his heels.

And like some awful nightmare born into reality, as they come to him, Steve realizes the stains washed through Loki’s tunic and pants, gleaming black from a distance, shine black-red in truth. Blood, Steve thinks with a shuddering, sinking heart, ripped with fear as he takes in the stones scattered around them.

“Oh God…” he hears himself say, but his voice sounds distant, muffled through the cacophony of denial screaming in his ears. “oh God is he…”

Thor is cupping Loki’s face, lifting it up, and even as the captain feels nauseas with terror, seeing the fresh bruising and deep gashes, split across his forehead just below his left eye, he also feels an almost dizzying relief as he sees the smaller god’s lids flutter, sees his chest rising and falling in a shallow pattern.

Alive.

He’s… he’s alive.

If barely, it seems.

“Loki,” Thor chokes again, tears obvious and thick in his voice. “brother.”

Loki gives no visible reply beyond his lids lifting and then falling half-mast, staring distant and unfocused ahead of him.

“Thor,” Steve begins, his own voice shaking, the tremor beginning to work into his limbs.

“They’ve stoned him.” Thor says, as though he hasn’t even heard Steve. “They’ve…”

Steve feels his frame stiffen almost painfully.

He’d known. He’d realized it himself.

Only to hear it spoken aloud makes it somehow more real.

God, how is he even still alive, Steve wonders.

And he must have spoken the question aloud without realizing it, as he hears Thor’s voice answer, strained and barely audible.

“You know not the durability of the Aesir or Fro… or Jotnar.” He says. “Our bodies are able to endure leagues of trauma before succumbing to death.”

For a moment, the thunderer bows his head, great shoulders quaking. Crying, Steve realizes.

“It can be both a blessing and a curse.” He bites out.

Steve swallows past the worsening tightness in his throat, hands clenching and unclenching, trying to fight the rushing numbness threatening at his fingers.

“We need to help him.” He starts, somehow finding the strength to steady his own voice. 

Thor nods, lifting his head.

Steve sees him wipe at his eyes briefly before reaching up, his fingers fumbling only slightly as he begins to undo the bindings securing Loki’s wrists above his head.

“Aye.” He replies. “We will bring him to Eir. She… she will help him, even if no other will.”

“Air?” Steve questions, trying to recall if Thor has at all mentioned this person to him before.

His teeth clench and he takes an aborted half-step forward as the binds finally loosen, and Loki slumps limply forward, saved from hitting the ground only by virtue of Thor being there to catch him.

A strangled moan of pain slips past the younger god’s lips as his arms fall over Thor’s broad shoulders, and the elder holds him to his chest to keep him upright.

“Forgive me brother.” Thor mutters, pressing his lips to Loki’s crown, kissing him gently.

“Is there anything I can do?” Steve asks, feeling horribly useless then.

Thor shakes his head.

“Nay.” He answers. “It will be simpler if I carry him. But your accompaniment to Eir’s chambers will be met with gratitude.”

Steve nods without hesitation.

“Absolutely.” He replies.

He can only watch then in nervous tension as Thor tries his best to be gentle, shifting Loki into a fireman’s carry. Still, there is only so much he can do, and even in Loki’s half-conscious state, the pain is clearly immense as he chokes and cries out in weak protest, limbs flailing a moment before dying down, hanging unmoving in Thor’s arms.

“Forgive me… forgive me Loki.” Thor stammers, his face twisting in hurt for the pain he cannot avoid causing his brother.

Steve bites his lip, saying nothing as he falls into step behind the thunderer, guarding his back, ready to fight should any try to intercept them.

He sends a silent thank you to whoever may be listening, when they make it somehow, blessedly, without incident.

//

Thor nods to him as they stand outside the ornately carved doors, still clutching Loki to his chest, and Steve takes his meaning without having to ask, lifting a fist and knocking firmly against what must be ten inches of solid gold, if the weight of the doors is any indication.

Long seconds pass in tense silence following, each moment gone one Steve finds himself glancing down either end of the hallway, eyes sharp for any movement, worry churning in his gut.

It is almost painful, the relief, when at last there comes sound from the other side, and an instant later, the door is pulling open, the sound loud and echoing through the wide open corridor beyond, and standing there, peering out at them with unconcealed suspicion, is a woman of not inconsiderable beauty, nearly as tall as Steve himself, with tied back, wheat colored hair and piercingly intelligent, blue eyes, holding an age and experience which her youthful face denied.

Her gaze falls first on Steve, regarding him only a moment, before it shifts to Thor, and then the burden held in his arms, and her eyes widen noticeably, even in the dim lighting of the hallway.

To her immense credit, she asks no questions, simply stands aside, throwing the door open wider and nodding her head back towards the room, inviting them in.

Thor nods in return, stepping forward, through the threshold, and Steve is incredibly grateful when he follows, and the woman makes no move to stop him or question his presence.

“Lay him here.” She instructs after closing the door softly behind them, stepping ahead and leading them beyond the foyer, deeper within the chambers, indicating a daybed at the rooms back.

Thor says nothing as he bends to his knee, depositing Loki as gently and carefully as he’s able along the richly upholstered fabric, easing his head back against a throw pillow.

Loki groans again, head lolling to the side and lips falling apart.

A trickle of bright blood seeps from his mouth’s corner, trailing slow and ugly to the line of his jaw, and Steve has to look away a moment, eyes closing, as he’s reminded once more of how it was his own actions, his own, damned stupidity which had led to this.

Led to Loki here, like this, beaten half to death by stones.

“What happened?” The woman asks, stepping into Thor’s space, effectively pushing him back as she takes his place, kneeling before Loki’s splayed form, her hands moving to him, beginning what is obviously some sort of physical examination.

“Stoning.” Thor forces out, voice strained. “He was bound to the stone in the town square. I know not how long it lasted for. We found him thus not half an hour past.”

Steve feels like he should take responsibility, should step forward and own up to this being a direct result of his own failing, his own refusal to heed Thor’s previous warning.

But he knows too there’s little point in it now. The information will do nothing to help the once Prince.

At Thor’s words, Eir’s lips purse into a thin line, the skin about her eyes tightening, but beyond that, she gives no visible reaction, her hands moving over Loki’s body delicately and with the precision of experience and expertise.

With each press of her hands, Loki groans in obvious discomfort, his face contorting and twitching, lids fluttering rapidly.

He seems to be gaining greater awareness, and with that, Steve knows, more cognizant of the pain.

“This is bad.” Eir says after a few moments, voice hard and serious, and Steve looks to his feet, feeling his frame stiffen, wishing there were something, anything he could do to help.

He feels so damned helpless.

“Will he be well?” Thor asks, voice far from composed.

For long moments, Eir doesn’t answer, continuing in her cursory exam, before finally, straightening where she kneels, she replies in a clipped tone.

“As well as he can be.” She says. “Your brother suffers from more than these most recent injuries.”

Steve glances up, seeing Thor nod, the movement jerky.

“Aye.” He says. “I know.”

“This will not help his condition. Already he labors under the wear of a man ten times his age. I fear the lingering affects this most recent trauma will cause him.”

Thor’s hands curl to fists, his eyes moving away, off to the side.

Long seconds pass before again he nods, and he forces out in a choked breath…

“I know.”

Eir stands then, fluidly to her feet, turning to face the two of them, though she addresses only Thor.

“I require materials from the healing halls.” She informs him. “If I draw you up a list my Lord, will you be able to fetch them for me?”

Immediately, Thor nods.

“Of course.”

Eir nods in return, smiling tightly.

“Good.”

She moves then to a small desk a few feet adjacent to where Loki lies, retrieving from it a sheath of paper, which she lays upon the desks surface, taking up what is obviously a quill pen from an ink jar, beginning to write rapidly upon it, her movements quick and precise.

Steve watches her, and he wonders suddenly who she is, what her association with Thor and Loki is, that out of everyone in Asgard, at least those of the nobility and royal guard, she would still be willing to treat the younger brother so humanely, while the rest feel no compunction in treating him as less than dirt.

She returns some short minutes later, handing the list off to Thor and telling him to go quickly.

Thor folds the piece of paper and begins to turn, but he makes it not a step before Loki’s voice freezes them all in place.

“Mmm.. Mother?” He says, his voice dry as chalk dust, nothing but a harsh, whispered rasp.

Thor turns, and Steve’s eyes snap to Loki, even as Eir turns with them, staring down at the broken figure.

Loki is staring up at her, bleary eyed and unfocused.

His right hand clenches and unclenches where it lies on his sunken chest, kneading the material of his tattered tunic between bone thin fingers.

His mouth falls open, and Steve sees his teeth smeared red with blood, more seeping out the corners.

“Mother?” He asks again, eyes fixed on the woman, dampness gathering thick in them, tears slipping slow in a single stream down his temples, into his short hair.

The cold precision of the woman suddenly melts away, and she is kneeling again at Loki’s side, reaching out and placing a hand upon his forehead, being careful to avoid the deep gash there.

“No, my child.” She breathes softly. “I’m afraid it is only me. Only Eir.”

Loki doesn’t seem to comprehend her words, even as his eyes stay fixed, riveted on her.

“Oh, sweet boy.” Eir goes on gently, running a hand through Loki’s hair. “It will be well, you have my word.”

Long moments pass without reaction or reply. And then Loki’s face seems to crumple, his brow twisting and lips pulling into a pained expression, more tears gathering and falling from his eyes.

“Mother, p-please… please… Mother… Mother…”

Steve cannot bear it.

He looks away, his own eyes stinging as he brings a fist to his mouth, biting hard on his knuckles.

Loki sounds like a child.

He sounds like a lost, little boy, trapped in an obvious delirium.

And it is in such sharp contrast to every image the captain has held of him these last eight years. Like the horrible discovery of realizing everything you thought you knew is a lie, is wrong.

“You will have her my Prince.” Eir says soothingly. “You need only wait a short while.”

Steve’s eyes shift to her then, and then to Thor, seeing the thunder god staring down at the scene intently, the tension in his massive frame wound tighter, if at all possible.

“Thor,” Eir calls, still at Loki’s side, still running her fingers through his hair, over his scalp in a massaging motion. “can you fetch the Queen here as well?”

Thor hesitates, taking a half step forward before halting, his jaw setting tight.

“If Father discovers…”

“He likely already has.” Eir cuts him short, and Steve feels his throat constrict. “And already you have defied his decree by bringing your brother here. Allow Loki this small comfort. His suffering is already whole.”

Long seconds pass, Thor standing stiff and still as he contemplates Eir’s words, before finally, he gives a single, determined nod.

“Very well.” He says. “I will gather your materials and then fetch Mother here.”

“Good.” Eir says in return. “You hear, Loki? Your mother will be here soon.”

Loki only continues to stare up at her with dazed, confused eyes, blinking slowly as tears continue to gather and fall.

Thor wastes no more time waiting, and within moments, he is gone from the room, leaving Steve alone with the woman and her charge.

“If you will Captain.” She says suddenly, startling him slightly at her address. She hasn’t before now even acknowledged that she knew who he was. “I need to remove these clothes and beginning preparing his wounds, and your assistance would be appreciated. If you could fetch me some clean cloths and a container of fresh water from the wash room, down that way.”

She turns to look at him over her shoulder, directing him with a pointed finger.

“And also a small dagger, which you will find in my sleeping quarters to the wash room’s right, upon my night stand.”

Steve blinks, taking a moment to process all of the instructions he’s been given, before snapping to attention.

“Yes ma’am.” He says, a wash of relief running through him at finally being given something to do.

It takes him but a few, short minutes to gather all of the requested items, and soon he’s returned to her side, setting the bowl of water and towels down upon the floor, per her instruction and handing her the finely crafted blade.

She thanks him softly, and then he steps back, watching as she sets to work.

She murmurs something so softly to Loki that Steve can not quite make out her words, again running her hand over his scalp in an obvious attempt at comfort.

Loki says nothing, only blinks slowly up at her, swallowing thickly. The action causes him to fall into a coughing fit for some seconds, Steve guesses from having swallowed too much blood, and Eir is quick to lift him up by the shoulders, even as he chokes out in agonized pain at the unwanted motion.

Eventually, it subsides, and she lowers him back down slowly, his face contorted in hurt as she does so, tears still running fast.

“There is going to be a great deal of discomfort.” She warns him, and Steve sees him nod in return, if barely, his breath coming rapid and shallow.

Eir nods back, and then she is slowly turning Loki onto his right side, shushing him and uttering comforting reassurances as he cries out in pain, strangled whines slipping past his teeth as he grits them, his eyes clamping shut.

Steve’s arms fold over his chest, standing stiff and nervous, watching as the woman begins to slice through the thin material of Loki’s shirt, cutting a vertical line from the nape of the collar, all the way down the side to its hem.

She does the same to Loki’s trousers, slicing a line all the way down to the pants cuffs, before she’s again turning him gently, onto his other side, repeating the same, hushing Loki as she goes, trying to sooth him. 

And then she’s peeling the clothes away from him, taking care not to pull too roughly at his bloodied skin, prying gently where the material sticks, until the garments are completely removed, leaving Loki naked and gasping along the daybed. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t question it when Eir holds the ruined clothes back to him, simply taking the soaked garments and stepping back again.

He feels like he should avert his eyes. Feels like he’s invading somehow, intruding.

The damage to the god is worse than Steve could have imagined.

It’s somewhat difficult to see underneath all of the blood, but the blood itself is enough of an indicator.

The stones have torn Loki’s already battered flesh to shreds, gapping, hideous gashes marring wide swaths of his skin, weeping blood, swelling and deep, ugly bruising already evident round the open wounds. 

Steve need take only one look to know Loki has likely suffered broken and fractured bones. The careful way Eir handles him is proof enough of that, as is the way even the smallest of movements causes the god to suffer wracking pain.

Any human would have been dead ten times over if they’d been subjected to the same.

Eir continues to shush him softly as she begins to clean his injuries, being as gentle as she can as she runs the wet cloth over each wound, cleaning them out one by one with thorough attention.

Loki is fighting to remain still, Steve can see, but it is an impossible task, with the way he jerks and flinches and cannot repress the small gasps and whimpers which escape his throat at Eir’s ministrations.

The captain wants desperately to do something, to help in some way, but again, he’s relegated to simply watching and waiting, knowing he would only get in the way if he were to try.

He wonders if Loki is even aware of his presence. 

He hasn’t once looked in the captain’s direction, shown no sign of being aware of anyone else in the room.

Maybe that’s a good thing, Steve thinks.

After what happened, after what he caused, he doubts Loki wants anything to do with him ever again.

In truth, Steve wouldn’t blame him, hard as it would be to accept.

To know he was responsible for this, but unable to do anything to set it right.

He doesn’t know what he could do anyway.

Every move he’s made to try and help Loki so far has only ended in disaster.

And he has no influence here, in this place. No standing of any sort.

These are the thoughts running through his head, watching with nervous apprehension as Eir continues to clean Loki’s injuries, when he hears the door in the foyer beyond push open.

Quickly he straightens, not sure of what he’s about to encounter. What’s about to unfold.

He prays it’s only Thor, and hopefully the Queen.

If it’s Odin, or a group of guards, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Knows only that he can’t let them take Loki. Not this time. Not now, when he’s already so badly hurt…

He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he sees Thor appear through the entryway, his mother only feet behind, elegant and beautiful as ever, despite the hour, and the circumstances. 

The moment she enters, as though he senses her presence somehow, Loki begins struggling to sit up, Eir pressing gently on his bony shoulders to keep him still and down.

But still he stirs restlessly, until at last the energy seems to seep completely from his ruined form, and he falls back down, limp and unresponsive, eyes falling half closed and glazed.

And then there is desperation in the Queen of Asgard, as she forgets any and all decorum or patience.

In an instant, she is rushing forward, the folds of her dress rustling and sweeping cross the floor, as she moves past Steve without acknowledgment, past Eir, who is fast to step aside and make room for the Queen by her son’s side.

She seems to collapse to her knees before him, arms already outreached, and Loki, frail and broken as he is, can only watch her before she catches him up round the shoulders, holding him tight against her.

“Oh my boy, no.” She sobs. “No, no…”

And he doesn’t even have the strength to hold her back, his arms falling limp at his sides as he lies against her, head pressed to her shoulder.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t make another sound, and all that’s left for Steve to hear is the Queen’s quiet weeping, and the sight of Loki’s blood, soaking through her dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, massive thanks to all of my readers and reviewers! I’m so happy to know my story means anything at all to you.
> 
> And worry not, little kiddies, things will, eventually, get better for Loki. I think. But there’s sadly going to be a lot of pain and angst before then, as I’m trying to go about this semi-realistically.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve feels horribly awkward, and out of place, at this very moment, watching this scene unfold before him.

Something so obviously, painfully private.

Crushing him farther down is the nagging, unrelenting guilt, the surety that it's his own actions that have caused this.

He tries to tell himself that, logically, Loki's enslavement and subsequent mistreatment were well in place long before he'd ever set foot in Asgard, and that what had happened, his being trussed up and stoned in the town square, was only a single occurrence in what was doubtless a string of such abuses.

But logic doesn't really fly, when you're standing back and watching a mother clinging desperately to her son, weeping near uncontrollably as he bleeds all over her, half dead from having rocks lobbed viciously at him for who knows how many hours.

Steve feels like maybe he should leave, but he thinks also that would seem… insensitive, somehow.

He feels almost as if he should be made to watch this, to be reminded of the stupidity of his own actions, so that he might not repeat them.

Feels like he needs to confess to this woman. Tell her what he did to her son, even though he'd only been trying to help.

Oh God, he'd only been trying…

"My Queen," the woman, Eir, suddenly steps forward and places a gentle hand upon Frigga's trembling shoulder. "I need treat his wounds with all haste."

The Queen nods, still holding Loki's limp, unresponsive body to her.

She cups the back of his head, carding her fingers through the barely there strands of his hair, pressing her lips to his temple and kissing him.

"Eir is going to make it better my darling." She speaks softly against his ear then. "She'll take the pain away, and I'll be here. I'll be right here."

Loki hardly responds, but for the brief flutter of his lashes, and a muffled whimper, barely audible.

Steve sees his shoulders twitch, as though wanting to lift him arms and hold his mother to him. But he hasn't the strength, even for that.

"I'll be right here Loki. I won't leave you." She promises to him again, before at last relenting, easing him back down to the daybed as gently as she can.

Even still, Loki's face twists in agony, fresh tears falling from his eyes and a choked moan slipping from his lips.

"Forgive me," Frigga entreats desperately, bending down to place a kiss against his forehead. "forgive me."

Steve knows it is more than the fresh pain she's caused him for which she apologizes now.

And something in the words then, they must bolster the former Prince somehow, as at last, Loki lifts a hand upward, towards her, trembling viciously though it is.

The Queen takes his intent immediately, and reaches out, taking strong hold.

Somehow, beyond all reason or seeming ability, Steve sees Loki smile up at her, for that single moment, his eyes clear and focused.

It is a small smile; weak. But it is genuine.

"You came." He says in a hoarse whisper, voice sounding wrecked as the rest of him.

Frigga barely stifles a sob, the sounding half-swallowed as she nods, her grip tightening over Loki's too thin hand.

"Of course, my sweet child." She says, voice wavering and thick with tears. "Of course."

And he smiles up at her still, before his eyes fall closed.

"Thank you…" he breathes out.

What strength he'd mustered seems to leave him all in a rush then, his hand growing slack in her own, his form falling entirely still.

Frigga lays his arm back down as carefully as she's able, bending forward to place one last kiss upon his brow before at last standing and stepping away, allowing Eir to move in, and begin her work.

/

Steve fidgets restlessly as he sits there, hands clasped and bouncing between his knees.

To his left, sits Thor, and to his right, Thor's mother, Queen Frigga, all of them lined along a long bench, pressed up against a wall some several feet back from where Eir, who's Steve's since learned is the head healer in all of Asgard, works to tend to Loki's numerous and severe wounds.

It's been near to half an hour since she began, and Steve finds himself closing his eyes, body tensing, biting down on his lower lip every time he hears Loki whimper in pain or make any sound of discomfort, followed by Eir shushing him gently and repeating again and again that it will be alright.

The captain has no idea how either Thor or the Queen are managing. If he's as nervous as he feels, he can only begin to imagine.

And yet the two of them have sat there the entire time, near motionless, simply watching.

Almost as if they've grown used to it. Used to dealing with it…

Almost as though reading his thoughts, then, the Queen turns suddenly to him, speaking in a voice hardly above a whisper.

"Thor has told me of your past, Captain Rogers." She says, in a voice that's far too calm he thinks, considering what's happening. "That as a child and younger man, you battled against physical frailty."

He glances towards her nervously.

He still isn't entirely sure how to address this woman, considering her rank and position.

And then, despite the relative youth of her face, there's the frankly intimidating knowledge that she is literally thousands of years old.

What must a person learn in that time? What knowledge and experience must they gain?

He can hardly fathom it.

He clears his throat then, trying to pull himself from his thoughts as he nods vaguely.

"Y-yes ma'am." He starts, trying to keep his voice low. "I… I had a lot of health problems growing up."

Frigga smiles softly at him.

"You'll forgive my incredulity Captain." She replies. "You are indeed a more finely built mortal than perhaps any I have ever seen."

It's Steve's turn to smile now, somewhat sheepish in return.

He shrugs.

"Before the serum was given to me, I was about five foot four and weighed about a hundred and ten pounds." He laughs lightly. "So I guess miracles really do happen."

If the Queen is shocked at this revelation, her features give none of it away.

She simply nods in seeming understanding, before looking away, falling silent for long moments as her eyes rest back on Loki.

Steve thinks the conversation must be over, and returns his own gaze there.

But then he hears her speak again, her tone somehow heavier.

"When Loki was a child," she says. "he too was very fragile."

Steve blinks, a wave of shock rolling through him as he turns his attention back to her.

"Fragile?" He asks, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

He thought all Asgardian's were born like the gods they were. Strong and robust and… superior.

But the Queen nods, her eyes still on her son.

"Aye." She says. "He was always incredibly small for his age. And constantly burdened by illness. I think, perhaps, in his youth, and into the early years of his coming of age, he spent more days confined to bed in Eir's healing halls than he did whole and hale on his two feet."

At last Frigga's eyes slip away, falling to the floor, her hands clasping together upon her lap.

When next she speaks, her voice has turned plainly melancholy.

"There were times I feared he would never grow any bigger or stronger."

She pauses again, and then she looks up at Steve, her eyes too bright in the rooms dim lighting.

"You understand, physical weakness is not a fault easily forgiven in our world. Loki was… he was often made sport of by the other children for it."

Again her eyes cast away.

"He had had already such a difficult time making friends. He was always such a studious and quiet child, you see. Because of his frailty, he never really took to the physical endeavors natural to other boys his age and younger. And so he spent most of his time indoors, reading and studying his magic."

Here, she smiles briefly, the memory seemingly fond. Though the expression hardly lasts a moment before it too slips away.

"When Thor told me of you, Captain," she begins again, looking to him. "I thought perhaps then you might understand some of what my youngest has gone through. There never have been any other children born of the Aesir so fragile of constitution. Loki was always very much alone in that."

Steve swallows, nodding almost absently.

"Y-yes ma'am." He answers after a moment. "I do."

And the way she smiles at him then…

There is an entreaty in it, almost as if she's begging him of something, and impossibly, the captain is suddenly struck by the notion that the Queen wishes him to befriend Loki in some way. But that's so unlikely… especially if she knew his role in her son's current condition coming to be…

"You have a good heart, Captain Rogers." She says, nodding. "I would place my trust in that heart."

He blinks, taken aback.

He feels the abrupt unease of having his core pierced straight through. The same unsettled feeling he'd experienced the first time Loki had called him out of hiding, and he'd had to face off against the former prince.

Loki had stared at him with those same, terrifyingly perceptive eyes.

And adopted or no, Steve has no doubt then that Loki is this woman's son.

"This cannot be allowed to continue." Thor's voice suddenly cuts in, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

He glances up, and sees the thunder god sitting, elbows rested on his knees, hands wringing furiously between them.

The Queen too looks to him.

"Thor…" she starts, but he cuts her short.

"Look at him Mother!" He just barely restrains from shouting, gesturing violently in Loki's direction. "He is beaten near half to death! And what will happen when Father discovers that we've helped him? That we've acted against his decree? It will be Loki again who suffers the consequences!"

He shakes his great head.

"No. No, I will not allow this to continue thus. He is my brother. My little brother! I am meant to protect him, and look what I have allowed to happen! I can no longer sit idle and pretend his position is otherwise. It is… it is only a matter of time before some soulless deviant goes too far with him and… and…"

He doesn't finish his words, but Steve knows exactly what Thor was going to say.

He knows the Queen does as well.

"He has no rights. No protections…" Thor finally finishes, his voice petering out to barely a whisper.

"And what would you have us do?" Frigga speaks then, her own voice thick and trembling. "What can we do that we have not already tried?"

Thor buries his face in his massive hands, against shaking his head.

"I know not." He mutters. "I know not."

Steve glances away, again feeling useless and intrusive.

He wishes he could think. Could come up with some way to help.

"What have you guys tried?" He finally forces himself to ask.

When both Thor and the Queen look to him, he fidgets nervously, hoping he hasn't somehow overstepped his boundaries.

"I-I just mean, maybe there's something you haven't. If we could come up with something new…"

He trails off, seeing the agonized expression flit across Thor's features.

"If I could but take Loki from this place, I would." He begins, and his eyes shine with sudden tears. "But I know of only one way to leave Asgard, and that is through the Bifrost, which is under Heimdall's watch and control. Any other paths…" he looks away, eyes landing on Loki again. "Only Loki and Loki alone knows of the secret paths between."

"Well couldn't you ask him?" Steve asks, a sudden kindling of hope in his chest.

Again, Thor shakes his head.

"Even if I could, even if Loki were able to fight past his fear of being caught in such a treasonous act, without his magic to open the paths, there is no way. They would remain closed to us."

"Without his magic…?" Steve questions aloud, an already sinking feeling replacing the brief hope.

"My son's magic is bound to him, forced dormant within." Frigga replies. "The band he wears on his right wrist. I'm certain you've noticed it."

When Steve nods weakly, she continues.

"It is imbued with my husbands own magic. The only magic in Asgard more powerful than Loki's. It is impossible to remove without the All-Father's will and word."

"But there's… there's gotta be a way." Steve tries, clinging futilely to the possibility. "Have you… have you tried taking it off physically. I mean actually removing it with your hands?"

At this Thor nods, his face grim.

"Aye." He says softly. "And again it was Loki who suffered the price of such tampering."

The thunder god's tone is enough to paint a clear picture for Steve of what that means.

He looks away.

"I have thought of taking Mjolnir to it. Her magic may be strong enough to shatter the spell and undo the Uru's strength. But I… I fear I would irreparably harm Loki in the process. He would not recover from such a blow were I to crush him wrist or his hand in the doing."

Steve doesn't know what to say then.

He's got nothing, and abruptly he feels a deep anger at his own uselessness.

This isn't his strength, this type of thing.

He's always been good at action. At coming up with solutions on the spot and seeing them immediately through.

Maybe Tony would know what to do, he thinks.

But Tony is gone now, and he's got no way of contacting him now.

Not about this.

He doesn't know what to do.

/

It is later.

Well into the early morning hours, Steve would estimate.

By some miracle, Odin has yet to show, though Steve knows Thor now stands guard outside Eir's chamber doors, keeping watch.

Eir herself has since retired to bed, needing to recover after the nearly two hour process of cleaning, tending and wrapping Loki's wounds.

Queen Frigga sits beside her son, her head rested along what space is left along the daybed, also sleeping.

That leaves only Steve awake now, also sat beside the daybed.

Eir had given Loki some sort of sleeping drought to help him recuperate, and he remains lying, unconscious and still.

Steve watches him, an almost overwhelming sadness settling deep in his gut.

Passed out like this, with the lines of pain and worry smoothed from his face, Loki looks even younger.

If Steve were to see him on the street, knowing nothing of who or what he is, he would guess Loki to be no older than 19 or 20. No more than a kid.

Though in truth the captain knows him to be more than a thousand years old.

Almost all of which, Thor tells him, Loki has spent being viciously loyal to both his family and Asgard, to the point of fault to himself.

The thought alone, that for that long, for more than a millennium, someone could give their life and dedication to protecting their home and loved ones, utterly and without exception, only to have all of that washed away and forgotten with a moment of misjudgment and wrongdoing, it is enough to both terrify Steve, and cause in him an inconsolable despair.

Didn't everyone deserve a second chance?

Could a single instant of bad character undo a thousand years of good?

He's jarred from his thoughts suddenly by the sound of rustling fabric, and when he lifts his eyes, he feels them widen at the sight of Loki, hands fumbling along the blanket laid over him, struggling to sit up.

He coughs weakly, face twisted in a grimace of pain.

"Whoa, whoa there…" Steve starts, standing from his seat and hovering over the emaciated form before him. He reaches out as if to push Loki back down, hands held above bony shoulders.

"W… w-water…" Loki grinds out, his voice like sandpaper, almost too faint to hear as he manages, somehow to lift himself into a sitting position.

"Oh…" Steve stands stupidly a moment. "Oh! Yeah, h-hold on. Hold on just a second."

He scrambles then, almost stumbling as he steps away to the bowl situated along a small table at the bed's side, taking up a small tin cup and filling it promptly.

He returns to Loki's side a moment later, holding the cup out to him.

Loki's hands tremble terribly as he attempts to take the offered water, and Steve's knows already he won't be able to hold it still.

"Here, let me help you." He says, reaching out and taking hold one of Loki's hands.

He notices absently how big they are, despite their thinness. Larger than his by a good measure.

"Here." Steve goes on, pressing the cup into the god's spasming fingers, wrapping his own hands around them to keep the grip steady, before slowly helping Loki to lift it to his lips.

Steve had worried for a moment that Loki might protest. Might angrily push him away. But so far he's been utterly compliant.

The cup continues to shake, even with Steve's added support, as Loki lifts it to his mouth and tips is slowly back.

Seconds later, he's taken in too much, and he coughs and sputters as it goes down his throat.

"Easy." Steve urges, pulling the cup away. "Easy."

Unthinkingly, he puts a hand to Loki's back, trying to ignore how he can feel every rib and ridge of his spine as he pats him gently, transitioning into rubbing soothingly circles with the breadth of his palm.

Loki hunches over, sucking in a few grasping breaths, until finally his lungs seem to clear, and the coughing fit passes.

"Okay?" Steve asks.

It seems at first that Loki hasn't heard him, giving no reply, before the captain suddenly remembers what Thor has explained to him in the past about the "All-Tongue". How, though it sounds like it to Steve's ears, the Aseir aren't in fact speaking English at all. Nor any known language on Earth.

He realizes that, whatever language they speak, there probably isn't any version of "okay" to be translated.

"Are you alright?" He tries instead, and blessedly, he sees Loki give a nod, his face still turned down.

"Do you want to lie back down?" He asks.

And Loki shakes his head.

"Oka… alright." Steve catches himself.

Seeing no other reason to be standing, he settles himself carefully back down into his seat, folding his hands on his lap and waiting.

Loki's arms have folded around his midsection, hugging himself as he still trembles noticeably.

"A… are you cold?" Steve asks after a moment, worried.

Another shake of the head.

Still Loki hasn't looked at him.

"A s-sorry sight I must make, mm?" At last he speaks again, followed by a forced sounding, dry laugh.

Steve frowns.

"No, your… your hurt." He protests. "You need help."

Again, Loki gives another weary chuckle, shaking his head.

"What a mystery you remain to me, Captain." He says, and finally, he lifts his face, peering at Steve with bleary eyes. "Your would be conqueror, and in place of deserved vengeance, you offer me kindness and… help."

Steve feels himself sitting a little straighter.

"It's the right thing to do." He replies.

Loki smiles in return, the expression decidedly wry.

It's a bizarre contrast, to the ruined and haggard state of the rest of him.

"And people so often allow questions of right and wrong to govern their actions." He says.

"I do." Steve says, unflinching.

Loki looks away then, the smile fading slowly from his face, and he nods, as if to himself.

"You are a warrior." He says after a moment, tone thoughtful. "Of noble make, as all good warriors are meant to be."

He glances down, watching his fingers kneading and smoothing the material of his blanket.

"I too was a warrior… once." He goes on, voice growing softer. "Though perhaps I never rose to the same ideal of nobility which you have most obviously achieved."

He looks back to Steve then, smiling widely now, and for an instant, there is a flash of charm, so overwhelming and unexpected, Steve finds his breath catching in his throat.

He wonders, abruptly, if this is who Loki used to be.

Charming, witty, full of good humor and dancing, too intelligent eyes.

"A true warrior wins the day with the strength of his arm and the power of his will." The god says. "Not through trickery and deception."

He glances away again, shrugging, falling silent, the air growing suddenly, almost suffocatingly somber.

Steve can hardly believe this is the same man he encountered on Earth.

There is something so thoughtful, so quiet and soft about Loki now, none of which the captain had seen evidence of all those years ago.

And he remembers both the Queen's and Thor's words then, what they'd both told him about Loki, about how he was once studious and gentle and shy…

A scholar, Thor had said.

Loki, before he had been a warrior, before he had been a Prince even, he'd been a scholar, passionate to an impossible degree about learning. Reading everything he could get his hands on, holing himself up for days and days in the palace library, or in his rooms, pouring over texts and scrolls and books, until Thor would be forced to physically drag him out into the world.

"Loki, I'm sorry." Steve suddenly blurts, overcome by the need to apologize. "I'm so sorry."

Loki blinks, seemingly confused.

"… Whatever for?" He asks after a moment.

"What fo…?" Steve starts, disbelieving. "For… for letting this happen! For getting you into so much trouble. You told me it would, and I pressed anyway. I made you take that food and…"

Loki shakes his head, again, laughing softly, and Steve doesn't understand how he can laugh at all.

Not when he's the one who nearly died.

"You made me do nothing, Captain." He says, and again, there's that smile, the one that's soft and maybe even kind, and so completely sane, Steve doesn't know what to think of it. "I took that bread willingly. I have only myself to fault for what transpired following."

Steve feels his jaw slack.

"Loki, how… how can you say that?!" He asks, shocked. "What those men did to you…"

"Yes," Loki interrupts him. "what those men did. And those who later saw fit to throw stones at me. You did none of that, Captain. So do stop this absurdity of blaming yourself for the actions of others."

Loki glances away then, hands continuing to work restlessly at the material covering his knees.

"In any event, it isn't as though I did not deserve what transpired."

And if Steve thought he'd felt taken aback before, it is as nothing compared to the feeling now.

He'd known Loki was broken physically. But to see the mental consequences of his enslavement, to see what it's done to his self-regard… that he would think what happened to him was alright… was… was acceptable!

He can barely stand to realize it.

"What?!" He blurts. "No! How can… Loki, no one deserves what they did to you! That's… that's nonsense!"

"No," Loki counters without hesitation, still looking away, his voice, if possible, even more quiet. "I… I disobeyed a direct law. Deliberately. I forgot my place and…"

"Loki," Steve stops him, placing a hand atop his own and stilling his increasingly agitated movements. He shakes his head. "no. That's not true. You… you called me blaming myself for what happened to you absurd. Well I call saying you deserved what happened more so. What they did to you was wrong Loki."

Loki stares down at the hand rested over his own, unmoving for long seconds, face strangely blank.

And then, suddenly, he pulls away, frowning vaguely.

"You are kind Captain. Per usual. But regrettably mistaken on this point."

He looks to Steve then, shaking his head.

"For your own safety, I would urge that you stay away from me, lest they mistake you for a sympathizer of mine. The Aesir have little tolerance for mortals as is. They need only such an excuse, a man aiding a Jotun, to act on that intolerance."

Steve feels his gut clench, a sickening nausea working up through his throat.

Not fear, he realizes. But anger.

He's angry.

"Yeah, well," he says. "I've never really known when to back down from a fight."

Loki continues to stare back at him, unblinking and with discomfiting close regard.

Until at last he looks away, and the captain watches as he struggles to lie back down, turning over onto his side until his back is to Steve.

"I am tired." He says. "If you do not mind it, I would enjoy some rest before the All-Father comes to reaffirm his decree."

And just like that, the anger leaks out of Steve like water through a sieve.

When the All-Father comes.

Loki says it like it's only a certainty.

Helplessness comes crashing back down upon Steve's head, reminded again of how truly powerless he is to stop this atrocity.

He wants to scream.

All he does instead is slump down in his chair, silent.

What good is a hero, he wonders, when he can do nothing to help those most in need?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, massive thanks to all of my readers and reviewers! I’m so happy to know my story means anything at all to you.
> 
> And worry not, little kiddies, things will, eventually, get better for Loki. I think. But there’s sadly going to be a lot of pain and angst before then, as I’m trying to go about this semi-realistically.


	6. Chapter 6

“That is a Midgardian… card game, is it not?”

Steve startles badly at the sound of Loki’s voice, nearly dropping the deck he holds in his hand.

Eyes flitting up, he finds the god looking back at him, curiosity powerful in his own gaze. A kind of disarming earnestness even. The look is so utterly out of place on Loki’s face, at least as Steve had come to recognize it, that for a moment, the question escapes him entirely, and he can only stare back blankly.

Loki’s gaze doesn’t shift, only keep looking to him expectantly, and at last the captain blinks, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry.” He starts. “I th-thought you were asleep.”

“I was.” Loki answers, nodding.

He’s laying on his side still, but a moment later, he’s trying to push himself up to sitting again.

Steve doesn’t give it a moment’s thought before he’s up out of his chair and reaching out to help, taking Loki underneath his arms and lifting him up.

Again, he’s nearly shocked by the lack of protest on the god’s part, as he allows Steve to simply manhandle him into position.

“Sorry!” Steve says as Loki’s face grimaces in pain at the movement. “I’m sorry!”

He settles Loki back onto the daybed’s back rest, and the god visibly relaxes once he’s there, shoulders drooping and a soft sigh of relief ghosts past his lips.

He looks exhausted, just from that little exercise, and familiar guilt eats at Steve’s gut.

A few, long seconds pass, Loki’s throat bobbing as he swallows, eyes closed, and the captain worries that he’s done something to further harm him.

But finally Loki’s eyes come back open, and once more, he nods towards the cards Steve’s since placed down on the daybed’s edge.

For a moment, Steve again draws a blank, following the god’s line of sight.

“Oh… Oh!” He starts, remembering Loki’s question. “Right, uh… yeah. It’s… it’s called Solitaire. It’s kind of like, it’s called that ‘cause you can play it by yourself, and you’re just supposed to match each pair of cards together. It’s, uhhh… it’s not very interesting.”

He finishes almost self-consciously, looking back up to Loki and expecting to find his attention drifted.

Instead he finds the god’s face lined thoughtfully, brow furrowed slightly as he continues to stare down at the deck.

Long seconds pass without comment, until finally Steve’s own curiosity gets the better of him and he picks the deck up, holding it out to Loki.

“Would you like to see?” He asks.

Loki blinks, eyes shifting back to the captain’s face, pale and, beyond their dullness, an almost anticipation.

“… May I?” He asks after a moment, voice hushed to nearly a whisper, thick with uncertainty, as though he fears some sort of reprimand for even daring to ask.

Steve feels his heart twist, and he forces himself to nod and smile, holding the deck out closer.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s no big deal. I just brought the cards along with me for something to do in between exploring the city.”

Loki, after some hesitation, reaches back, taking the deck between long, thin fingers.

Steve watches him, and something about it, something about the way Loki holds them close up to his face, inspecting the cards so carefully, eyes alight with true fascination, despite the exhaustion so readily apparent, it makes the captain’s throat close up tight, and for a moment, he has to look away.

How something so simple could capture anyone’s interest so completely, someone as intelligent as Loki most especially…

Steve bites his lip, eyes closing as he tries to reign in the suffocating pressure building in his chest.

“We have card games here, as well.” He’s jostled from his mounting emotion by the sound of Loki speaking again, and he swallows with some difficulty, looking back to the god. 

He finds Loki shuffling the deck with a precision and speed to make the finest and most skilled card dealers look like fumbling, uncoordinated idiots.

“Mayhap if… if it should strike your fancy, we might exchange customs?” 

And Loki looks at him with the most awful kind of hope. 

The sort, Steve knows, which beneath expects rejection.

One that knows it shouldn’t exist at all, for the pain it can only cause. 

Yet exist it does, reluctant and scared though it may be.

Again, Steve forces himself to smile, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “yeah.” And he reaches out, placing his hand gently atop the god’s own. “That would be really nice Loki.”

Loki’s return smile is small.

It only makes the backs of Steve’s eyes burn.

//

“That’s it man. I’m out.” 

Steve throws his cards down, shaking his head and laughing softly.

In the six games of poker they’ve played, the stakes nothing higher than a bowl of scented, aromatic spheres of some kind, which Steve had found sitting on a nearby table, and divided evenly between them at the beginning of each set, Loki’s not only won each overall, he hasn’t lost a single hand.

Steve would have had a hard time believing Loki’s claim of never having even heard of the game before if he hadn’t insisted to the captain that he be explained each rule of it in detail, or then proceeded to ask about a thousand and one different questions regarding each of those rules.

Granted, Steve knows he isn’t the best poker player the world’s ever seen, but he used to more than hold his own with the boys back when he was with the Howling Commandos.

Loki’s just got a face that’s impossible to read when he doesn’t want you to see what he’s thinking, while simultaneously having absolutely no difficulty reading your own.

The genuine, broad grin which has spread over the god’s face with each win, though, makes the utter trouncing worth it, Steve thinks.

He hasn’t been able to help but notice the way Loki’s entire face just lights up when he smiles like that.

And he seems even younger then.

Like some little boy.

It’s been no different with the games Loki’s shown him. Though those were more limited, given the incompatibility of the cards with most of those he knew. Steve fared no better, still.

But Loki, over the last hour… he’s seemed genuinely happy, Steve thinks.

If not happy, well then at least something more alive than what the captain’s ever seen of him before.

Smiling and even laughing at points, an energy and enthusiasm to match the brightness of that smile.

“Another then?” Loki asks with that same, hopeful anticipation, eyes wide and bright. “I do very much enjoy this game of ‘poker’.”

Steve laughs again.

“Yeah, sure.” He says. “Do you want to deal again, or should I?”

Loki nods towards him solicitously. 

“You may, if you wish.” He offers.

The captain shrugs, smiling vaguely.

“Sure.” He says, gathering up the cards and stacking them together.

He’s not nearly as good at this as Loki, but the god doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by Steve’s comparatively clumsy attempts, watching patiently as he shuffles the deck a few times over, before beginning to deal their cards out.

He’s only halfway through it when there comes a loud commotion outside the double entry doors, heated voices yelling, and immediately, both Loki and Steve freeze, Loki’s eyes shooting wide as he stares, paralyzed, towards the sounds.

And then the doors comes slamming open, crashing with deafening volume against the walls.

The Queen stirs from her sleep, where she’d lain still bent over the daybed, sitting up like a rocket, rigid and straight, her own eyes round with shock.

“FATHER, STOP!” Thor’s voice booms through the foyer, desperate and pleading and agonized. 

Ahead of thunderer, as Steve finally turns from the absolutely stricken expression across Loki’s face, he sees Odin, striding cross the room with a speed and power which one would think impossible for a man so aged and weathered looking.

If you ever mistook the All-Father for frail, any such notions would be banished from your thoughts that instant.

Christ, Steve had completely forgotten about him and his impending threat while playing cards with Loki. He’d been having such a good time. Everything had, for that short while, seemed okay even.

Behind Thor and his father trail a group of six guards, walking in straight formation.

“Father, PLEASE!” Thor begs again, chasing after the older god, hand outreached as if to halt him.

But Odin pays him no heed whatsoever, continuing on in his path, towards Loki.

Steve stands instinctively, even as Frigga too gets to her feet.

If Odin is at all apprehensive of their presence, it shows nothing in his unfaltering progression forward.

Steve only barely notices the Queen moving in the periphery of his vision, coming around in front of him.

“Husband, no…” she begins as Odin at last reaches them, putting herself directly in his way.

At last, the All-Father halts, staring down at his wife with cold indifference.

“Remove yourself from my path Frigga.” He says with just as little inflection.

The Queen shakes her head no.

“I will not.” She says.

Behind him, Steve hears Loki choke down what sounds painfully like a whimper, and he feels his hands curl to fists at his sides, the familiar instinct to stand and fight rushing through him, despite knowing he’s got no, real chance of winning.

“Bah!” Odin snaps, sounding more frustrated than anything else, as though his wife is nothing more than a mere annoyance in the face of his wrath.

He proves so a moment later as he steps around her, and when she reaches out, grasping his arm and trying to pull him back, he simply shakes her off and continues towards Loki.

Steve doesn’t give it a second guess as he steps forward to intercept the god, even as his hearts pounds painfully against his ribs and he feels adrenaline like fire coursing through his veins.

“No.” He says.

And finally, as Odin stops before him, glaring him down, something close to surprise flickers across the King’s lined features.

His single eye narrows a moment later, face twisting in unhidden disdain.

“Begone, foolish mortal!” He hisses, and with it comes a crackling energy through the air.

Like the feeling you get before lightening is about to strike the very spot you’re standing.

Steve feels the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end, his heart beating faster.

He sets his jaw, swallowing thickly against the sudden fear.

“No.” He repeats, in his most authoritative, commanding tone. “I’m sorry Sir, but I can’t let you take him.”

“Captain…” He hears Loki start behind him, voice thin and tremulous, a brush of shaking fingers against his elbow.

Steve flinches back when Odin abruptly, and loudly, growls at his former son, sounding more like an animal than anything else, and with a sharp intake of breath, Loki’s touch slips away, and he falls silent.

The All-Father’s gaze lingers on Loki a long moment, blue eye swirling with rage and power, before finally sliding back to Steve, dismissive and contemptuous. 

“Aside mortal,” he repeats. “or I will give you reason to regret your stupidity.”

Again, Steve shakes his head, scarcely aware of what he’s even doing, only knowing that he can’t, in good conscience, let this man near Loki.

He can’t, knowing what will happen.

It’s a mistake, and he knows it an instant later, when without even hope warning, without hesitation of any kind, and moving faster than Steve could ever even hope to see, Odin has him around the throat, impossibly strong fingers digging into the soft skin, and lifting him clear off his feet like he weighs nothing.

Steve can’t remember feeling this helpless. This weak.

Not even when… not even before…

He hears someone gasp, startled and high pitched, and then Thor’s gruff, horrified voice, entreating “Father, no, do not!”

Unconsciousness is moving in rapidly at the edges of Steve’s vision, black spots dancing with increased regularity through his eyes as the flow of air is cut mercilessly and cleanly from his lungs.

He struggles, he thinks, hands reaching and prying without success at the fingers digging harder and harder with each passing moment against his windpipe. Feels his feet kicking and tears springing thick to his eyes as he thrashes pathetically, like some small creature stuck in a deadly trap.

Oh Jesus… Oh God… he thinks. I’m going to die… I’m going to…

And then he hears Loki’s voice, thin and wavering and rough.

“All-Father, please…” he’s saying, sounds like he’s begging. “please, leave the mortal be. I resign myself to you. I offer no resistance.”

And Steve thinks “no.”. “No Loki, don’t!” He wants to yell, but he can’t even pull any air into his lungs.

A moment later, and he finds himself on the ground, coughing and gasping and sucking air desperately, holding onto his already bruising, pained throat.

Tears stream from his eyes, down his face, and when he’s finally able to lift his gaze, he sees in front on him Loki, on his knees, holding on to Odin’s robes with shaking hands, staring up at him.

Odin stares back, face blank and indifferent, saying nothing.

Stupidly, Steve wonders how Loki found the strength to get out of bed at all.

The uncontrolled trembling through his painfully thin frame tells Steve he didn’t really have the strength at all.

And the captain’s eyes go wide as, with the same, unnatural speed of before, the King lashes out, grabbing hold of Loki’s face and hauling him to his feet with the same ease and carelessness in which he’d handled Steve. 

A strangled cry slips past Loki’s lips, and both Thor and Frigga step forward, hands outreached and faces twisted in terrified despair. 

“Odin, please.” The Queen entreats desperately, voice broken with anguish.

For a moment, Loki flails in Odin’s grip, hands reaching up as if to tug at the All-Father’s own, before he seems to remember his place, and his arms fall limp at his sides.

And Steve can see the King’s grip increasing in pressure. Can see his fingers squeezing tighter and tighter over his former son’s jaw, and the trembling through Loki’s body worsens, tears springing to his eyes with the obvious pain, chest beginning to rise and fall in a rapid panic. 

“HE IS YOUR SON!” Frigga screams, forgetting any and all decorum or supposed proper conduct, leaving only the agony of a mother watching her child being tortured.

“HE IS NO SON OF MINE!” Odin screams in return, and his voice is like thunder through the room, deafening in its volume.

Suddenly, violently, he tosses Loki aside like he were some child’s toy, sending him flying across the space, only to crash with an audible crack against the adjacent wall.

Loki crumples, falling to the floor in a twisted, unmoving heap.

And again, Frigga cries out, lurching forward, running towards the ruined form.

In that same instant, Thor at last explodes, a wild roar rips from his throat as, without further warning, he launches himself at Odin, hammer brandished and ready to crush.

The All-Father only stands there, and as Thor is upon him, he lifts a single hand, and the thunder god’s upraised hammer is abruptly torn from his palm, flying into Odin’s own. 

Only Thor keeps coming, still screaming out his fury, and the King counters swift and easy, knocking Thor aside with a hard blow from the back of his hand, crashing the younger god to the floor.

“You would attack me then!?” Odin fumes, single eye blazing. “Your own father!? In defense of the traitor? The same fool who betrayed your trust? Your bond of brotherhood?!”

Thor’s hand comes up, wiping across his lip, split wide and bleeding from the All-Father’s blow.

And he stares back at Odin with only hatred.

“Yet worse have you betrayed me!” He cries. “I would call you no father of mine. No longer!”

The thunderer staggers to his feet, tears of rage filling his eyes.

“You treat my brother thus! My little brother! I am meant to protect him. You are meant to protect him! And yet you allow such sickening trespass against him every day, and expect me and Mother to stand idly by and allow it too!”

He takes a step forward, face twisting in pain.

“Does it mean nothing to you!? A thousand and more years of Loki’s love and loyalty! He worshipped you Father! You meant everything to him. ‘Tiss why he went so mad with grief, when it was revealed to him he was not your son by blood! Have you no compassion? No love left in your heart for him!?”

Odin scoffs loudly.

“Whatever love, whatever compassion I may once have held for him, he gave forfeit to long ago!”

Thor’s face contorts in anguish, shock and disbelief lining his features.

“Did you ever love him then?!” He asks, voice thick with emotion. “Or was Loki correct to say that you only ever saw him as a tool, as a weapon to be wielded? That you show him so little mercy?!”

“Mercy!?” Odin roars. “I have shown him mercy enough!”

“HOW!?” Thor cries in return.

“BY ALLOWING HIM TO KEEP HIS AESIR SKIN BOY! THAT IS HOW!”

The All-Father turns then, striding fast and hard towards Loki’s still crumpled form, Frigga bent over him, sobbing openly.

“Would you not like to see then what treatment he would receive with his true self revealed!?” Odin goes on, coming to a halt over the two of them, reaching down and taking hold of Loki’s arm, dragging him up.

Loki is half out of it, eyelids fluttering and limp in the All-Father’s hold, head lolling to the side, and Frigga stands to her feet, latching onto her husband’s wrist, pulling desperately.

“NO!” She cries. “LEAVE HIM ALONE! ODIN, DO NOT…”

Her pleas go unheard, Odin’s face twisted in rage as golden power flows from his hands, crawling over Loki’s unresisting form like some horrible wave.

For a moment, Steve isn’t even sure what he’s seeing, still gasping for breath and the pain in his throat like hot knives.

The color of Loki’s skin begins to bleed away, and in its wake, comes a deep, almost luminescent blue. A hue richer and so multi-faceted, the captain wouldn’t even know what to call it. Only the word to come to his mind then is beautiful. 

Following in the colors wake are raised lines, colored lighter, swirling in intricate and perfectly symmetrical patterns along Loki’s face and down the entirety of his body.

The nails upon both his fingers and toes turn an almost smoky black, and from the sliver visible through his nearly closed lids, Steve sees a glowing, bright red, seemingly pupilless. 

But still the captain can see the dazed, unfocused glaze to them.

He doesn’t even realize what’s happened, Steve doesn’t think.

And Frigga’s turned away now, her hands covering her face, her sobs worsening.

“I will prove to you what mercy I’ve shown him.” Odin says. “When you see the leniency his Aesir form earned him by comparison of how he will now be received.”

Without further word, he turns, still holding Loki brutally by the arm, and begins to drag him towards the waiting, assembled guards, tossing the half-conscious god at their feet a moment later.

“Take him to be flogged. I leave the number of lashes to your discretion.” He tells the lead man. “Bring him to the slave barracks afterwards, leave him to rest until sunup, and then return him to his regular duties.”

The disgust which flits across the guards’ faces as they stare down at Loki’s unmoving form is plain, lips curling in disdain and hatred.

“Aye, my Lord.” The lead man says, bowing his head and crossing his fist over his heart.

Steve forces himself to his feet, every instinct in him screaming at him to move, to act, to do something.

Only he knows there’s nothing he can. Not after feeling that power. Not after seeing how easily Odin swatted even Thor aside, like it was nothing.

“Why are you doing this!?” He shouts instead, helpless as he watches the guards gather Loki up by the arms, dragging him towards the hallway beyond. “How can you call this justice? Doing this to your own son?”

Frigga’s run to Thor now, holding onto him and shaking visibly, Thor holding her back, not bothering to hide the tears streaming down his face.

“I owe no explanation to you, mortal.” Odin answers without bothering to turn around, beginning to follow the guards out. “Interfere again, and I will not hesitate to send you back to that hel-begotten mud pit you call a home.”

As he reaches the threshold, he turns, gazing at all of them with cold apathy. 

“You have only yourselves to blame for the pain Loki will come to endure this night. Remember that.”

And with those final words, he sweeps from the room, the doors closing with a dull thud behind him, leaving them in silence but for the sound of Frigga’s broken sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, so, I know this chapter sucks guys, and I’m sorry for all the grief I’m putting poor Loki through. 
> 
> I don’t normally make Odin such a class A dick, but for the purposes of this story, I kind of had to. 
> 
> Anyway, I promise things will eventually get better for Loki, and that Steve and company aren’t always going to be so useless. But it’s just going to take some time.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed anyway, and please let me know what you thought if you have a chance!


	7. Chapter 7

He’s paranoid, continually looking back over his shoulder and jumping at every imagined sound as he makes his way down the stone steps, built widely and deep.

It’s slow going for how dark it is down here, the only illumination coming from torches set against the surrounding walls, placed every few feet. 

Steve has to watch his feet carefully, fearful he’s going to fall, palm pressed and dragging against the cool rock of the walls to guide him better.

The slave barracks, Thor had explained to him, were deeper down than even the dungeons, near to the very bowels of the floating island upon which Asgard sits. And here it was Steve had finally learned something he’d been wondering morbidly about. That slavery in Asgard hadn’t been in practice for near a millennium, and the slave barracks had fallen into disuse and disrepair for it. 

Loki had been declared the Realms first slave in over nine hundred years, and currently, it was he and he alone who occupied the once over populated underground caverns.

Steve feels the awful, bone deep chill in the air the farther he goes, and the smell of sea salt is almost cloyingly thick.

It was the Queen who’d convinced him to his current path.

Thor had been reluctant, but eventually had given in to his Mother’s tearful entreaties, and lent his support to the endeavor. He’s up there now, at the entrance, keeping watch, while the Queen does what she can to keep other watchful eyes distracted.

She’d begged Steve to go to Loki, to make certain of his well being, though all of them knew Loki would be anything but well. 

Only Frigga had been inconsolable, sobbing wretchedly as she’d asked, telling Steve that Loki would be all alone down there in that inhospitable place, suffering and forgotten, and Steve, despite the risk to himself, and despite the risk to Loki as well, hadn’t been able to say no.

There has to be a way to get Loki out of here, he thinks as he continues on his way down, the dark and the silence of the place growing heavier with each step.

If there was some way for him to contact Tony and the rest of his team…

Only he’s seen how powerful Odin is.

None of them have a chance against the King. Not really. Not even the Hulk, if the way Odin so easily handled Thor is any indication.

Steve’s mind whirls as he walks, trying to think.

There was an urgency now to the whole thing, worse than even there’d been before. 

Both Frigga and Thor had confessed to him that, in his Jotun form, the danger to Loki’s person was infinitely greater. 

“It is one thing to hold the knowledge that my brother is Jotun, yet to see him appear as one of us.” Thor had said. “It is another matter entirely to have that knowledge given form. My people will not react well to it.”

The Aesir hated the Frost Giants. 

Once, centuries ago, before and during the war between Asgard and Jotunheim, before the peace treaties had been drawn up and agreed upon, it had been a normal and accepted practice, for the Aesir to go “giant hunting”, as Thor had put it, in which any manner of atrocity and violence could be perpetrated against the Jotnar, without consequence. It was thought of as a sport. An amusing pastime, since, after all, Frost Giants weren’t people. They were mindless, savage beasts, better off put down than allowed to live.

And thought such practice was no longer, outwardly condoned, nor had the general attitude of the Aesir towards the Jotnar changed much, if at all, in the time since it was.

Thor, tears streaming down his broad, handsome face, had confessed to him his own, matching beliefs, changed only, truly, when his parent’s had explained to him Loki’s heritage, had told him his own brother, his little brother, whom Thor had cherished and loved for over a thousand years, whom Thor had known to be the most intelligent, scholarly person he’d ever encountered, was a Frost Giant.

Every belief, every prejudice and assumption Thor had ever made regarding the Jotnar had, in that instant, been shattered to nothing.

And since, he’d told Steve, he’s been ridden and weighted with near paralyzing guilt, for all the memories he held, of times he’d declared before his brother his own blood lust for the Frost Giants. His own, unquenchable desire to crush their skulls to powder and eradicate them from the face of the Nine Realms.

There had to be a way to free Loki. There had to be.

Steve couldn’t let this go. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, he doesn’t think, if he just left Loki here to rot. Not after seeing the way he’s been and continues to be treated. Not with the knowledge that very likely Loki would die from it, sooner rather than later.

Thor had said the only way he knew to leave Asgard was through the Bifrost, which was controlled by Heimdall.

Logically then, Steve thinks, they would need to get past Heimdall. If they could get past Heimdall, if they could take control of the Bifrost, just for those few moments…

He’s shaken from his thoughts when he realizes, suddenly, he’s reached the end of the stairwell, and he finds himself in a long passageway, as poorly lit as the way down had been, only a few, sparse, flickering torches to light the way.

On either side of himself, Steve can make out rows of barred off cells, crude and ominous in the dark, made more so by the oppressive emptiness of them all. 

As Thor had said, there remains no one here, no sign of life or having even once been lived in. Just barren cages, sitting as silent testament to an unjust and inhumane past.

If Steve had thought the silence and smell of the place had been overbearing on the way down, it renders him near ill standing within the heart of it.

His own breathes sound overwhelmingly loud to his own ears, the beat of his heart a blunt thud against his ribcage. The scent of the ocean assaults his nostrils, mixed in with something decidedly unpleasant. Something almost foul, metallic and sickly sweet all at once.

It reminds Steve of blood washed battlefields, the stench of human excrement, waste and bile.

He knows without needing to see that in this place, horrors have been committed.

He steps cautiously forward, ears sharp and eyes struggling to see more than a few feet in front of him.

Somewhere, Loki is down here, alone, and Steve feels his heart stutter and sink at the thought.

God, to be down here, forgotten and abandoned, for so many years…

The silence becomes somehow more pervasive the farther he makes his way inward, and so it near causes him to jump when, in that quiet, he at last hears a sound beyond his own breathes and the slide of his soles against the stone floor.

A low, almost soundless keen, drifting to him from somewhere up ahead. From somewhere in the darkness beyond.

Like a child crying.

And Steve knows already what it is.

He knows, and with that knowledge, he feels a kind of deadening despair.

He swallows, thick and difficult, and forges on, quickening his pace, the keening sound focusing to his ears into quiet weeping.

It is everything Steve can do to push the sting of his own eyes away.

It isn’t long before he reaches the end of the corridor, there being perhaps only ten rows of cages on either side of it, maybe twenty by twenty each.

It is in the very final cell, on the right hand side, that Steve finds him.

And for a moment, all he can do is stand there and stare.

The light makes it impossible for him to see in any great detail, but still, he can make out Loki’s form, and that dusky, powdered blue of his skin.

He is lying on his stomach, torso naked, arms curled in against his chest, face turned away from the cell’s bars. The only clothing he wears is a pair of ragged, torn up and ill fitting pants.

And even in the darkness, the captain can see the glint of blood, reflecting off the weak light from the torches. Loki’s back swathed in it, thick enough to make the open wounds from which it pours impossible to define.

This close, the fact of his weeping becomes only too obvious, broken and weak though it is. It is the sound of someone who cries, knowing none will hear. None will care. And Steve cannot keep his own tears from welling in his eyes, slipping silent and devastated down his cheeks.

Loki doesn’t realize his presence, even as he steps forward and kneels at the bars, wrapping his hands round the cold, smooth metal.

He waits a long moment, afraid and not yet trusting his own voice.

Finally, he works up the courage.

“Loki?” He says, keeping his voice just barely above a whisper.

Still, it’s enough to startle the former prince badly.

Loki jerks violently, his hushed sobs cutting abruptly into silence as he struggles weakly to his hands and knees, scurrying back, farther from the bars, pressing himself into the back wall.

Steve watches with dismay as the god bows his head and pulls his hands over the top of it in what is so obviously a defensive posture. Even from here, even in the poor light, the captain can see his frame trembling viciously and uncontrollably.

Ragged breathes fill the air, Loki fighting a vain attempt against the sobs still trapped in his throat, begging for release. He can’t quite do it, wet, frail whimpers slipping free from his lips in place of it.

Steve feels sick.

God, what are they doing to you? 

“Loki, it… it’s me. It’s Steve.” He tries gently, and he can’t keep the tremor from his own voice, working hard to keep himself composed.

It’s almost impossible, watching the terrified, wrecked man before him.

For long seconds, there comes no reply, just Loki’s continued struggle to keep himself quiet.

Steve’s about to speak again, thinking perhaps the god hasn’t heard him, when Loki’s raspy, dry voice calls out.

“Steve?” He asks, sounding confused and ruined.

“Yeah.” Steve answers, forcing himself to smile, though Loki is still turned away. “Yeah, it’s me.” 

Another, long moment stretches in silence, until slowly, hesitantly, Loki uncurls from where he’s pressed himself against the wall, and turns.

Bright, almost luminescent eyes stare back at Steve through the gloom, red and shining as rubies all the way through. There are no whites, no real difference but for a slightly darker shade running through the irises and then pupils. 

For an instant, it throws Steve. For an instant, he feels a disconnect, staring back into the eyes of something so alien and inhuman. Like looking into the eyes of an unthinking animal…

But as those seconds pass, and he really looks, even in the flinty strangeness of those eyes, he begins to see Loki. He begins to see the same, precise intelligence and emotion.

Nothing of the god’s face has changed, truly. Nothing but for the color of his skin and the raised lines which run in symmetrical patterns along its surface.

He looks, beyond those superficial characteristics, exactly the same. And with that realization, with that knowledge, the shock and disconnect slip away from Steve.

And Steve then notices the very evidence of Loki’s humanity, the dark tracks of his tears, down his lined face, still thick in his eyes.

“Hey…” he starts, but abruptly he’s cut short.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Loki says, voice trembling and thin. “Yo… you shouldn’t be here.”

“Loki,” Steve says, feeling his face fall, his brow crumpling in pain. “I’m not gonna leave you here. I can’t.”

“Please…” Loki begs, and he can’t keep the tears from his voice now, wavering badly. He turns away again, burying his face in his hands. “Please leave. Go away from here.”

“Loki, I can’t.” Steve says again, and he wants so badly then to tear these bars from the stone, to take Loki and whisk him away from the hell. 

But he can’t. Not yet.

Instead he reaches his hand through the bars, holding it out all way.

He knows it’s a risk. He knows Loki could easily take hold of his arm and break it into pieces, or even tear it from his shoulder. Weakened as Loki is, he’s still incredibly strong.

But Steve’s never been very good at bending to caution. And Loki needs someone. He needs to know someone’s there for him. Someone cares, and doesn’t see him as worth the way he’s been treated.

“Hey,” he says. “hey, come here. Loki, come here.”

Loki doesn’t respond at first, only curling further against the wall, face still hidden behind his hands.

“Loki, please.” Steve presses, pushing closer to the bars, reaching farther in. “Please, come here.”

Its several seconds more, and the captain only can watch as Loki’s shoulders shudder, breath ragged, long fingers curling over his face.

“Loki,”

“I’m sorry.” He hears Loki speak at last, voice muffled and strained behind his palms. “I’m sorry I’ve done this to you.”

Steve doesn’t understand, his mind confusing at the words.

“Loki,” he shakes his head. “you haven’t done anything to me. What are you…?”

And at last Loki’s hands drop away, and he looks to the captain, eyes bright with thick tears.

“Odin cares nothing for your people, Captain.” He says brokenly. “He cares nothing for mortals. And you… you endanger your life repeatedly in the service of a creature so wholly undeserving of such valor.”

The tears fall, slipping slow and clear down the god’s agonized face.

“You are so kind to me.” He says, and there is astonishment in his voice. Disbelief. “Why are you so kind?”

“Because you don’t deserve this Loki.” Steve answers, his voice cracking, unable to keep the tears from slipping past his own eyes. He holds his hand out still, open. “You don’t deserve this.”

“I deserve death.” Loki says, watching him with devastated confusion.

“No… no Loki.” Steve presses. “Please don’t say that.”

He pushes his arm farther now, until his shoulder is jammed up against the bars.

“Please just come here. Please.” 

He knows there’s an almost desperate hitch to his voice, but he can’t care. He is desperate. He needs Loki to take his hand, so he can show him.

The wait is terrible, with each passing second the captain’s hope deflating, and he thinks he’ll never get to prove to Loki how much he really gives a damn. That his presence here in Asgard will be remembered by the god only with pain and regret.

But then he sees Loki move, just slowly. Peeling away from the wall, eyes still fixed and wary upon him, as he crawls with plain apprehension towards the outstretched hand.

When at last he is within reach, he stops, gaze moving towards Steve’s hand, studying it intently.

“You would pass me some means to end my miserable existence?” He asks, his voice hardly more than a whispered rasp. “A poison, mayhap? Or a blade?”

“No, Loki.” Steve nearly begs, splaying his fingers to show he holds nothing. “Just… I just want to hold you. If you would just let me, I…”

“I am not destined for Valhalla.” Loki speaks over him. “Were I to take my own life or die a warrior’s death, the fates would not grant me that honor.”

“Loki, I’m not gonna let you die here.” Steve tells him, and there’s an edge to his voice now. A determination. It’s as much a promise to himself as it is to the god. 

He stretches his fingers as far as they’ll go, an entreaty.

And finally, blessedly, he feels the weight of Loki’s hand, resting in his own.

His fingers curl around it, squeezing firmly, but not tightly.

The first thing he notices is the coolness of Loki’s skin. How it actually radiates cold. Not at brief intervals too uncomfortable. But the captain can tell, if he were to hold on for too long, it would start to make his own skin ache. Like holding cubes of ice in a thin clothe and pressing it to your skin.

What he then notices is the roughness of it. It feels almost covered in fine grains of sand, textured and thick.

It’s unlike anything Steve has ever felt, but rather than being put off, rather than fear, he feels only wonder and awe and excitement. 

Loki truly is another sort of being, so utterly separate from a man, and yet in so many ways very much the same.

The god’s own fingers curl around his own, the grip weak and even timid.

And then Loki is slumping, listing sideways until his body is laid against the bars, chin dipping down until it nearly rests upon his chest. As though exhaustion has finally drained what little energy he had left from him.

Tears build, for a moment, washing out Steve’s vision entirely, and he doesn’t hesitate then, reaching his other hand through, fingers finding the crown of Loki’s head, pushing through his hair. And Steve marvels at the softness of it, like a child’s.

“You are so kind…” Loki whispers, voice a brittle sound.

Steve only rests his forehead against the bars, eyes closing, tears a strange warmth down his cheeks, for the chill he feels settling into the joints of his hand.

//

“We would go hunting.”

Loki’s voice startles Steve out of the half-drowse he’d fallen into over the last hour, but the malaise is quickly rid of as he feels Loki’s hand, still held and grasping in his own. 

There’s a numbness to Steve’s fingers, he realizes, the ache he’d suspected crawling into the joints and traveling up his wrist, into his forearm. It doesn’t particularly hurt, but it’s uncomfortable.

He ignores it, instead giving Loki’s hand a squeeze.

It seems to encourage the god to keep speaking.

“When we were boys, Fath…” he pauses, voice drifting off and face turning away. “Odin would take us hunting, in the forests surrounding the city.”

Steve feels his breath catch in his throat, and he has to clench his jaw from saying anything. Somehow he just knows he shouldn’t.

“In those days I thought… I thought, someday, though it might not be that day, someday, I would grow into something that in Odin’s eyes would equal Thor. That he would… would someday look upon me with the same pride and approval he did my brother. I thought…”

Again, he stops, and Steve watches as his other hand comes up, wiping absently at his eyes.

“Ah, but foolish youth.” He starts again after a moment, voice wavering. “Foolish though it may have been, it afforded me a kind of naïve optimism. I was never so happy as I was in those days, when hope was a thing tangible.”

Steve sees Loki’s jaw work, clenching a moment, before falling slack again.

“With that I could…” his voice cracks, petering out to a strained rasp. “I could forget all else. It mattered not what the others would say when I thought… thought one day soon… soon, he would turn the same look upon me he gifted Thor every day. And he gave me so many chances, I thought… so many chances to…”

When he trails off this time, he remains silent, face still turned from Steve, and the captain, suddenly, overwhelmingly, feels a spark of suffocating rage, remembering Odin, remembering the way the King had so cruelly, so violently treated his youngest son only hours before.

Rage, because in Loki’s weary, whispered voice, he hears a destroyed hope, no less longing, no less wanting for the acknowledgement that it is lost.

How could a father do this to his child?

How could he do this to him?

Minutes more pass in silence, the captain unsure of what to say, how to bring the god any sort of comfort at all.

He realizes there is no comfort to be had; not so long as Loki remains in this place, with all rights stripped from him. With all mercy withheld. 

He remembers his thoughts from earlier, about the Bifrost, and Heimdall. Needing to somehow get past the watchman. If they could just do that…

“Loki,” he starts softly then.

The god turns sluggishly towards him, lids heavy, body bowed with pain and exhaustion. 

Steve’s gaze drifts away, down to the hand he holds in his own. He notices then the sorry state of it, nails crudely shorn and caked underneath with dirt. The blue skin stretched taught over the knuckles, slightly darker than the rest, bruised and swollen, split and clogged with dried blood.

Unthinkingly, Steve rubs a thumb gently over the damaged skin, swiping it back and then forward and back again.

“I should probably head back.” He says quietly, finally bringing his eyes back to Loki’s face.

He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay. But he knows if he gets caught down here, if he gets caught anywhere near Loki now, it will be Loki who suffers most.

The god simply nods, glancing away.

“How monstrous you must find me.” He says after a moment, frail and lost.

“Loki.” Steve replies, firm. 

He brings his other hand up, placing it carefully along the god’s jaw, turning his face gently back to him.

He shakes his head.

“You’re not a monster.” He says. He looks Loki unyieldingly in the eye, refusing to glance away. Again he shakes his head. “You’re not.”

The smile Loki turns on him then is so painfully self-deprecating, and Steve wants with consuming passion nothing more than to make him believe his words.

“Kind.” Loki says to him.

Steve swallows.

“I’m going to get you out of here Loki.” He says. “I swear to you.”

Loki’s own head shakes, disbelieving.

“How?” He asks, blunt.

And now it’s Steve’s turn to smile.

“I have a plan.” He says. “I promise you. I won’t leave you here alone.”

Suddenly then, Loki’s hand lets go his own, and in an instant, he’s snaked his thin arm through the bars, his wide palm lying, soft as a breath, against the captain’s cheek, the cold of his skin shocking and sharp.

“Foolish solider.” He says, smiling again. But there is no mockery in his voice. Only a sort of bemused fondness. He nods. “I believe you. Perhaps that makes me more the fool.”

Steve reaches up, taking Loki’s hand, pulling it between his own.

“I’m coming back for you.” He says. “On my honor Loki. I won’t let you down.”

Loki leans forward, resting his forehead against the bars, looking up at Steve.

“Go then.” He says. “Before you’re found out.”

Steve nods, giving Loki’s hand one last squeeze, before finally letting go, pushing himself to his feet.

He watches the god pull his arm back through the bars, curling it around his torso.

He’s so small, Steve thinks, as Loki turns away.

It’s all the captain can do then, to force himself to do the same.

To walk away from him, down the corridor and up the stairs.

To leave him there alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual guys, thank you so, SO much for all the support and love I’ve gotten on this story. I never imagined it would have the impact on people that it has thus far, and it means the world to me to know you all are enjoying it.
> 
> If you have a chance, let me know your thoughts on the chapter.
> 
> I promise you Loki’s escape from Asgard is coming, and soon. Within the next couple of chapters, and then it’s probably off to Avengers Tower, where he’ll be faced with a whole new set of problems, lol. Along with everyone else.
> 
> Things are going to get pretty rough for him though before that happens, just a forewarning.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve has not even made it past the stairwells threshold before he finds himself intercepted by a group of guards, his eyes quickly finding Thor, standing off to the side, massive shoulders slumped and expression lined in dismay.

He looks back helplessly to Steve, regret and apology plain in his eyes.

“Thor, what’s…” the captain starts, anxiety and fear already beginning to churn sickeningly in his gut, his hopes, who’s merits he’d only begun to convince himself of, dying a swift and painful death.

“The All-Father requires your presence.” One of the gold-clad men cuts him short. “As well as that of Prince Thor’s.” The man glances sidelong towards Thor, before cutting his gaze back to Steve, face without emotion.

And just like that, Steve’s words, his promise to Loki, turns to ash. False and empty.

The taste of bile burns sudden and disgusting in his throat, and it is all he can do to force it back down. To keep the world from spinning.

No… no, Loki had been relying on him. He’d said he believed Steve, and now Steve was going to fail him. He was going to betray that trust before he’d even been given a chance to prove himself worthy of it.

“Why?!” He blurts out, unthinking, despair and dismay overriding sense. 

The guard frowns deeply at him, seeming more perplexed by the question than angry.

“Tiss not our place to question the All-Father’s command.” He says simply. “Nor is it yours. Come, you will follow us.”

Steve’s gaze shifts once again to Thor, searching desperately for some signal, some sign that there is a way out of this. But Thor only shakes his head, dejected and so openly fearful, the captain feels his own dread increase tenfold.

He’s given no time to dwell on it though, as without another word, the procession of guards splits, half their number moving back behind Steve, the other half out front, and at once, they begin marching, away from the stairwell leading down to the slave barracks, down the corridor.

Thor keeps pace beside Steve, offering his support even as he’s openly spared the embarrassment of being “escorted”. 

As they continue on towards wherever it is they’re being led, Steve feels his fear worsen.

It isn’t for himself he’s scared, though he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t also on his mind. But Loki… Steve keeps hearing Odin’s words, telling them how it was Loki who would pay the price for their interference.

A thousand, horrifying scenarios flit through his mind, consuming his awareness, heart beating painfully against his ribcage, fingers growing numb and mouth dry.

So distracted by it all, that he isn’t even aware they’ve reached their destination until the sound of the guard’s heavy boots comes to a halt on the stone flooring.

He looks up, finding them standing before a set of double doors, as grand and ornate as any he’s seen through the palace thus far.

He glances to Thor as the lead guard raises a fist, knocking.

Thor seems to read the question in his face, leaning towards him and explaining lowly.

“It is my parent’s private rooms.” He says, the tension obvious in his voice. 

He’s as bemused as Steve is, and it only serves to worsen his fear into near panic.

And then the door is pulling open, seemingly of its own accord, and the guard steps forward, through the threshold, announcing Steve’s and Thor’s arrival.

There comes no audible response from within, but a moment later, the guard steps aside, nodding towards the two of them.

“The All-Father will see you now.” He says.

The tension through Steve’s frame feels almost paralyzing, and he’s barely able to make himself step forward and follow Thor into the rooms beyond.

Oh God, if only he’d been smarter about… about everything. If only he’d tried harder. Fought harder.

And it was just like with Bucky, wasn’t it? He’d failed him too. 

It was only by pure luck that he’d been given another chance with his best friend. He doubted he would given such a chance here, with Loki. And his actions have only condemned his former enemy to a worse fate still.

His plan had been so simple. Probably stupid and reckless too. 

He’d thought they could confront Hemidall, and if it came to it, overpower the gatekeeper, just long enough to take control of the Bifrost and beam them and Loki back down to Earth.

He didn’t really have any plane beyond that. Hadn’t allowed himself to contemplate what would happen, when Odin found out. How any of them could hope to protect Loki then, and keep him safe on Earth.

Walking into the rooms foyer, he and Thor are immediately met by the sight of Odin, seated in a high backed chair, as lavish and luxurious as everything else in this place, looking almost absurdly casual and relaxed. 

Steve is overcome by the sudden, almost overpowering desire to punch him in his smug, stupid face.

But those thoughts are quickly dispersed, as beside Odin, seated in the chair directly next to his, he sees the Queen, looking equally as relaxed.

For a moment, Steve’s brain blinks out.

He has no idea what the hell is going on.

Thor, apparently, is just as confused.

“Mother, Father…” he begins, voice hesitant and unsure. “what is this?”

“Please, sit.” Odin finally speaks, nodding towards two chairs situated opposite the ones he and his wife occupy.

Steve can’t take his eyes off of Frigga, trying to read her expression, trying to discern what’s going on. But her expression gives him no ideas.

He thinks for a moment, terrified, that she’s somehow betrayed them, both her sons included. But that’s so completely absurd a thought, he tries to reason with himself. She would never do that. Would she?

It seems only muscle memory which gets the captain moving then, once more following Thor forward, and lowering himself, numb and anxious into his seat.

Odin’s single, blue eye follows each of their movements with an intensity and perceptiveness which leaves Steve feeling bare and defenseless. So much the same as both Loki’s and Frigga’s gaze left him to feel.

He wants to say something. Wants to explain, and make the King of Asgard understand the wrongness of all of this. To make him see reason and accept that it isn’t Loki who should be punished.

But he’s certain to speak now would only worsen Loki’s position. 

Everything else Steve has done has only proven to do as much.

When Odin again speaks, the captain finds himself barely able to suppress a startled flinch.

“So, you’ve been to see Loki again.” He begins, staring directly now at Steve. It isn’t a question, and Steve wonders frantically how it is the All-Father knew, when they’d been so careful. 

As if knowing his thoughts, Frigga abruptly starts…

“I told him.” She says plainly, and both Steve’s and Thor’s eyes cut to her, startled and shocked.

“W-what!?” Thor says, stammering. “Mother, why!?”

Before she can reply, Odin’s voice again cuts in.

“Reputation. Appearance.” He starts, voice grim and commanding. “These are things which the weight of can only be felt by one in a position of power. By one who bears upon their shoulders a great responsibility towards the safety and protection of others beyond his own ken. It is a reality lost on those who know not such things. Who have never held the lives and wellbeing of so many others in their hands. Who understand not the burden of such sacrifice, and the toll it takes on one’s soul.”

Steve can only feel himself growing more tense, more uncertain as the All-Father speaks on, his words making no sense, meaning nothing to the captain. He stares at the old man, and feels nauseas with dread filled anticipation, knowing Odin is building towards something.

“Such was my burden in the handling of my youngest child. You cannot begin to grasp the depth of my despair, in having to condemn my boy to such a life as the one you see him lead now.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, barbed, angry words nearly spilling from his tongue in indignation and disbelief. 

He only just catches himself, and Odin continues on, seemingly oblivious to the captain’s disgust.

“You may think me a hypocrite, the both of you.” He says, looking from one to the other. “But Thor, you know this well. Had I not sentenced your brother to a life of slavery, then it would have been the axe that befell him. You know this.”

Thor’s face twists in anguish, and he half stands out of his chair.

“Father, you could have… have sentenced him to imprisonment! To anything other than…”

“No,” Odin cuts him short, tone harsh and decisive. “I could not.”

“Why!?” Steve finally blurts, unable to help himself. “Why couldn’t you!?”

Odin turns back to him, and for the first time, Steve sees something like grief in that single eye, weary and lost.

For a long moment, he regards the captain, saying nothing, and Steve struggles not to fidget uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

“Despite what your impression may be, mortal, my power here is not absolute. I am beholden more to the will of my people than they to mine.” He sighs audibly, his gaze at last slipping away. 

“Loki is not of Asgard. You know this now. He is Jotun. And as you may know too, the Jotnar are considered the mortal enemy of the Aesir. There has been, since the dawn of time, bitter hatred between our peoples.” He shakes his head, and suddenly he looks every bit as old as Thor has told Steve he is. “I tried explaining to Loki… the reasons for not telling him, for keeping the truth from him for so long. It was for his protection.

I knew, as did my wife, that were it ever discovered what Loki truly was…” again, he shakes his head. “he would never be accepted. Not among the gods. He would have been ridiculed and scorned and his life most certainly would have been endangered.”

“And how is that any different to now!?” Thor spits. “How is that any different to how it always was for Loki!? Father, he never fit among our world! He was mocked and derided and disliked by the court as far back as my memory will go!”

“Aye.” Odin nods. “This I know. I sought to protect him from it Thor. But it seems to hide the nature of a thing is something beyond even my capabilities. And when Loki’s true heritage was at last revealed… there was nothing more I could do to protect him. You must understand. After the crimes he committed, after such violent and cruel actions, whatever desire our people would have held to see Loki’s head on a pike, were increased a hundredfold. 

Had I given him any more lenient a sentence than I did, there would have been rioting in the streets. The noblemen and councilmen would have moved to seize power from me, from Frigga and from you, and they very well might have succeeded! Do you not see? I was only trying to save your brother from death, and all the rest of us with him!”

Steve shakes his head, unable to bear listening to this anymore.

“I’m sorry Sir,” he begins. “but what you’ve done to Loki, that’s a fate worse than death. And what you did to him back there, in your head healers rooms, there was no reason for that. For that kind of cruelty.”

“Foolish mortal, you will hold your tongue!” Odin snaps back at him suddenly, voice rising. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said!? I cannot be seen favoring Loki! I cannot be seen extending him kindness or sympathy of any kind, lest I upset the court into rebellious action!”

“So what are you saying?!” Steve snaps in return, anger overriding any fear he might have felt. “That it was all for show? That what you did to Loki back there, that what you’ve allowed to happen to your son was all so you could maintain your… your reputation!?”

Steve can hardly believe it, even as the words coming pouring from his mouth.

“YES!” Odin roars, and the room falls oppressively silent in its wake.

Steve blinks, falling back in his seat.

He looks away, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head.

“I’m sorry.” He says, disgusted. “I don’t care what the reasons are. I would never let anyone do that to my boy.”

Another, heavy silence follows, and then Steve hears a sharp intake of breath, and when he looks up, he sees Frigga, her hand curled to a fist and pressed hard against her mouth, face downturned as she struggles not to cry.

Steve feels guilty then. He hadn’t meant her. He wants to say so, but then Thor’s voice cuts him short.

“Why have you called us here then?” He asks his father pointedly. “Do you plan to further punish Loki for our actions? For appearance? Steve was only attempting to bring him some modicum of comfort in his endless misery. Would you punish him for that?”

Odin shakes his head, looking exhausted and dismayed. 

Steve wishes he could feel sorry for the King, but he really can’t.

“No.” He starts, voice strangely subdued. A pauses a moment, seeming to think. “I knew, from your mortal companion’s courage and determination, that his concern for Loki had been sincere. I pressed your mother about it, until finally, only under a promise extracted from me to take no ill action, she revealed to me her request of the captain, to go to Loki and offer him comfort. She told me of how readily and willingly your mortal friend agreed, despite the danger to himself, and I knew then I had found my solution to ending your brother’s suffering.”

“Father?” Thor says, confused as Steve feels, both their eyes fixed questioningly on the King. “What are you…”

“Midgard has as great a claim of grievance towards Loki as does Asgard, or Jotunheim. Of course I could not send your brother to Jotunheim, for they would have slain him in an instant. And I did not think the mortals of Midgard would receive him any more kindly. Until I met your Captain. Now I think perhaps differently.”

The All-Father turns to Steve then, again regarding him with that same, intense perceptiveness.

“Would you be willing to offer my son asylum, under the guise of ownership?”

Steve blinks, completely taken aback.

“What?” He asks dumbly, uncertain of what it is he’s hearing.

“If the people of Asgard could be convinced of my lending Loki’s ownership to the people of Midgard, to serve out a part of his sentence among a group who’s right to exercise his punishment is entirely equal to our own, assuming your fellow shield brothers are as willing to protect my son as you yourself have displayed captain, then I would gladly let you take Loki from here.”

Again, Steve blinks, and his mind goes blank.

He doesn’t… he can’t…

“Father,” Thor rescues him from having to reply. “you mean this? You would truly allow Steve and I to take Loki to Midgard?”

“Aye.” Odin replies. 

Steve doesn’t miss the way the Queen reaches over suddenly, gripping Odin’s forearm tightly. A show of solidarity. And there is so much naked relief in her eyes.

Thor leans back, his own features lined in disbelief and his own, slowly burgeoning relief.

“What of Heimdall?” He asks suddenly, the relief washing quickly from his face, replaced by concern. “If he hears…”

“The room is warded against his sight.” Frigga finally speaks. “He can neither see nor hear us now.”

And again, the relief washes back over Thor’s face, his great shoulders slumping with the release of tension.

Steve still can’t find his own voice. He still isn’t sure what’s even going on.

“How then do we proceed?” Thor goes on. 

“The sooner we are able to get Loki away, the better.” Odin replies. “It is too dangerous for him here now. I will handle all of what comes after you and your mortal have travelled to Midgard with him. So again, I ask you, Captain Steve Rogers, will you offer my son asylum upon your realm?”

Numbly, still not quite able to accept that this is really happening, Steve nods.

“Y-yes. Of course.” He says. “Of course.”

“Then it is settled.” Odin says, returning his attention back to Thor. “Thor, take your companion and go to Loki’s cell, remove him and begin to the observatory. Make certain to hide your brother’s appearance. Do not let him be seen by the masses. Frigga and I will meet you there. Say nothing to Heimdall, either of you. I will do the speaking.”

“Aye, Father.” Thor stands, crossing his fist over his heart and bowing his head. He looks back up then, eyes fixed on the King. “And… thank you Father.”

Odin waves a dismissive hand.

“There will be time for thanks later. You must make all haste now. Time is of the essence.”

Thor nods, and then he turns to Steve, offering his hand.

The captain takes it without hesitation, the thunder god hauling him to his feet as easily as he might a child.

“Let us go then, my friend.” He says.

Wordlessly, Steve follows him from the rooms, glancing back only briefly to see Frigga embrace Odin tightly, the All-Father holding her back.

//

They hear the voices well before they can see anything.

Raucous laughter, shouts of encouragement and inciting calls, and the strangled cries of someone in distress.

Neither Steve nor Thor need take a moment to know what’s happening, and in an instant, the both of them are off, running down the corridor as quickly as they’re able.

Powerful a runner as Steve is, Thor outpaces him, moving ahead and disappearing into the dark beyond.

As Steve draws nearer, the voices grow in volume, their words coming clear, and the cries of distress belong so obviously to Loki, the captain feels his legs pump harder still, his chest hammering madly against his ribs.

“Get him down! Come along, he can’t be that hard to hold!”

“He’s a squirmy little worm! It’s harder than it looks!”

“Get off, let me have a go!”

“Ahh! The little bastard burnt me!”

“HALT!”

Thor’s voice, Steve realizes, and a moment later, he’s skidding to a stop just behind the thunder god, his eyes widening as he sees the man straddling Loki’s hips, his balled fist already in motion as it comes down to strike the smaller god across the mouth.

There is the audible noise of flesh hitting flesh as Loki’s head snaps violently aside and a strangled cry slips from his lips, blood blooming visibly even in the dim lighting.

Surrounding Loki and his assailant are three more men, dressed in the same, golden armor of the royal guard.

All of them are frozen in place, staring wide eyed and stunned from inside the cell.

And then Steve sees what they’ve already done, what they’d been attempting, what they’d been intending, and for a moment, the world about him spins in nauseating circles.

Loki’s trousers are pulls halfway down his legs, leaving him bare and exposed from there, up.

The man straddling him still has one hand gripped over Loki’s right thigh, thick fingers digging into his flesh, and the look across Loki’s face…

Steve feels tears sting hot and thick against the backs of his eyes, even as rage is an abrupt whirlwind inside him, his teeth grinding together and hands curling to fists so tight, he feels the bite of his fingernails against the insides of his palms.

It isn’t just fear… Loki’s features are twisted into an unmitigated horror. The kind born not from some unknown terror, but from one familiar. 

This has happened to him before, Steve realizes. He can see it in every line of the god’s face. The stricken expression of traumatized knowing.

“Step away from him.” Thor’s voice cuts through Steve’s thoughts, low with warning. And even in the depths of this place, the boom of thunder can be heard and felt, reverberating through the stone walls and floor. 

“NOW!” Thor snaps when for a moment, the men only stare back, paralyzed in obvious fear.

Instantly, they scramble away, the man atop of Loki nearly stumbling and losing his footing as he stands and backs away.

And Steve feels his heart ache at the sight of Loki then, as he rolls over onto his side, curling in on himself, knees drawn up to his chest and arms over his head.

He looks so small, frail and helpless there, practically naked as he is.

Steve can see him trembling badly, even from where he stands, and as he steps forward, so does Thor, the both of them pushing through the cell’s entrance nearly side by side.

Immediately, Steve puts himself between the guards and Loki, allowing Thor to tend to his brother.

And he watches, his heart sinking farther into the pit of his stomach, as gently as he’s able, Thor puts his hands on Loki, prying him loose from the tension filled ball he’s wrapped himself into.

Loki gives no resistance at all, and this close, Steve can see the tears, tracking down the multifaceted blue of his face, leaving faintly darker lines in their wake.

“It is alright brother.” Thor shushes him softly, his own voice thick. “It’s alright.”

He tugs Loki’s trousers back up, carefully, and Steve can tell Thor is trying to preserve what little remains of Loki’s privacy. 

The captain averts his own gaze, abruptly feeling ashamed to have seen Loki in such a state.

And then Thor is gathering the younger god into his arms, holding him steady and close against his chest as he stands.

“Steve,” he calls out. “remove my cloak and cover him.”

Steve needs no further prompting, moving to Thor’s side and unclasping the garment from around the god’s neck, covering Loki up as best he can with it.

Neither of them bother sparing the four guards a glance as they make their way from the cell then, Thor simply calling back to them as they begin down the corridor, towards the stairs…

“Remain here.” he says, and in his voice is thunder. “If I see you again today, any one of you, I will not hesitate to have you flogged.”

Behind them, Steve hears the men shift, nervous and shocked.

Good, he thinks bitterly, not even caring for the pettiness of the thought.

For what they’d been about to do… for what they’d no doubt already done… they deserved every moment of fear they felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, first, again, massive thank you’s all around for all my readers and reviewers! I’m sorry for the delay on this chapter, and I’m sorry for the sort of transitory feel of it. It had to be done though to get from point A to point B, so to speak. I realize that there’s a character shift here with Odin, and I’m sorry about that. It was the most logical solution I could come up with though in terms of how to get Loki the hell out of dodge, and into the next part of this story, which will be Loki and the other Avengers adjusting to his life on Earth. 
> 
> It isn’t going to be easy, and Loki’s obviously going to be suffering some heavy duty PTSD I’m afraid.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter anyway, despite it being low on action and if you have a chance, please let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Thanks so much again!


	9. Chapter 9

Steve wants to stop and help Loki. 

The god needs attention, badly. The torn apart skin of his back still bleeds sluggishly from his earlier flogging, and he seems dazed now, not entirely cognizant as he was when Steve last spoke to him.

His arms loop limp and weak around Thor’s neck, his head lolling forward against his brother’s shoulder as Thor holds him firm.

Over and over, Steve can hear Loki muttering, seemingly to himself. He can’t make the words out at first, his ears straining to make hear.

When at last he does, he wishes almost desperately that he hadn’t.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Loki is saying, again and again, voice muffled and hardly a whisper.

Like any of this is his fault. 

Steve doesn’t consider himself a vengeful person. Not by any stretch. But he’d be lying to himself now if he claimed he didn’t wish for those men who’d done this to Loki to pay, and pay severely for this.

He wonders what it is that’s wrong with this place, with the people here, that they could treat another being this way and see nothing wrong with it. What it wrong with them, that they could so easily turn on one they once called Prince.

Steve tries not to dwell on it, and tries too to push the desire to stop and get Loki water, get Loki better clothing, let Loki rest, from his mind.

They have no time for such things, he knows, and once they’re back on Earth, then… then, they’ll get Loki the help he needs.

//

Somehow, thank Christ, they make it to the Bifrost observatory without being stopped, though they’d been given plenty of strange, suspicious looks as they’d made their way on horseback through the city. Thor had sat Loki across his lap, one arm wrapped about his too thin shoulders, making sure his brother’s face was hidden against his chest and his bare feet tucked up beneath the cloak.

Steve credits Thor’s rank and overall intimidating presence with no one attempting to intervene or otherwise circumvent them.

As promised, upon their arrival, they find both the King and Queen waiting, along with the Gatekeeper, Heimdall.

The massive man stands upraised on his pedestal, looking down on all of them with what seems, at first, an expressionless face.

But Steve doesn’t miss the way the dark skinned god stares with unrelenting intentness at the burden carried in Thor’s arms as he crosses into the Observatory, nor the there and gone again sneer to his lip.

He recalls Thor telling him of how Heimdall was among Loki’s greatest detractors. How the Gatekeeper had made it a habit over the years of Loki’s enslavement to purposefully land him in trouble whenever he could. 

Thor had gone on to detail how, once, he and Heimdall had been great friends, and how, in recent times, that friendship had cooled to near blunt hatred between them. Thor had not been able to forgive Asgard’s watchman for his hostility towards his brother, and he’d said to Steve how it was only in retrospect he realized that Heimdall’s hatred towards Loki had been there since the beginning. Blaming himself for not ever before paying close enough attention to see it. 

For not ever seeing it among so many of his people, the way they regarded and treated his brother. That it took their hatred being given permission to be outwardly exercised for him to see it at all.

He’d spoken of how he’d once accused Loki, when they were younger, of being paranoid, at times calling him delusional, whenever his brother spoke of people hating him.

The guilt and regret in Thor’s voice when he’d told Steve had broken the captain’s heart.

“Father, Mother…” Thor begins, striding towards them, Loki still carried in his arms. He ignores Heimdall completely, and Steve follows suit, walking passed the Gatekeeper, directly at Thor’s back.

“My son,” Odin greets him, nodding. “well met. I trust you and your mortal companion have made the relevant preparations to transport the prisoner?”

Steve notices the way Odin’s eye shifts for a moment to Heimdall, before falling back to Thor, and then to the bundle in his arms. 

The All-Father’s features tighten visibly as his gaze settles there, his mouth held in a displeased line. Beside him, Frigga clasps her hands together, a tremor working through her arms, and the captain is certain she wishes, more than anything, she could reach out and take her youngest son into her arms.

“Aye.” Thor nods, saying nothing further.

“Why do you carry him?” Odin presses, unexpectedly.

Steve can feel Heimdall’s gaze on them, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling in discomfort.

Thor’s back straightens rigidly, his gaze casting a moment to his mother before returning to the King.

“He was being attacked when Steve and I went to retrieve him. By four of your royal guard.”

The thunderer’s voice is hard and flat, and Steve knows he’s struggling to contain his emotion.

Frigga’s face dips lower, the tremor through her hands worsening as she clasps them harder still.

“I see.” Is all Odin says, giving no visible reaction to the news. 

“My King,” Heimdall’s deep voice suddenly calls out, resonating through the domed room.

Steve feels himself stiffen, anxiety rising in the pit of his stomach.

If Odin feels any such apprehension or nerves, there is no evidence of it as he turns to the Gatekeeper, expression stoic.

“What is it, Gatekeeper?” He asks.

Heimdall gazes back at him a long moment, expression equally impossible to read.

“Again, I must advice against this course of action.” He begins. “Loki is a powerful sorcerer, and a grave threat to the well being of the Nine Realms. It is a fools notion, to think a group of mortals will be able to contain him for any amount of time.”

“Aye, you’ve expressed your concerns already.” Odin answers easily. “And I will say to you again, I have already made my decision. The mortal’s of Midgard have as much right to benefit from Loki’s enslavement as do we of Asgard. It is their realm he wronged most grievously. Would you deny them their recompense?”

Heimdall dips his head in acknowledgement.

“Nay, my Lord.” He says. “But again I say to you, the mortals have little hope of containing…”

“And that is why Loki’s powers remain bound.” Odin cuts him short. “You think me so foolish, as to release him to another’s custody while he may yet pose a threat to them?”

Again, the two god’s stare unyielding back at one another, almost as if they’re daring the other to look away.

Finally, it is Heimdall who relents, again dipping his head.

“Nay, my Lord.” He again says.

“Then you will kindly cease in your questioning of my decree.” Odin replies.

Without further word, he turns his attention back to Thor and his burden, and Steve has to struggle to suppress a smile.

He still finds himself unable to forgive Odin, or find any affection towards the King of Asgard at all. But he can still appreciate the way he wields his authority when it is done in the service of what’s right.

Heimdall at last falls silent at that, though his face hardens, even as his expression remains passive.

Through the entirety of the exchange, Loki has remained still in Thor’s arms, his face still resting against his brother’s chest.

Steve isn’t even sure the younger god knows where he is, or what’s happening, he seems so out of it.

“I would make my farewells with my son.” Frigga suddenly speaks, looking to Odin with hard determination. “Surely my husband will not deny me the privilege?”

A vaguely disapproving look flashes across the All-Father’s face a moment, before melting away, and he gives a single nod.

“Be quick about it then.” He says.

And Frigga begins towards Thor and Loki. Thor turns aside her, so that she can face Loki better.

“Let me have him.” She says, holding her arms out.

Thor stares back at her a moment, unmoving, vague puzzlement across his features, before suddenly he shifts his hold on his brother, and Steve’s eyes widen, watching as the thunder god hands Loki off to her, and she holds him bodily, seemingly with as much ease as had Thor.

She cradles him, almost like a baby, and it would almost be comical, with how much longer than her he is, the way his legs hang down, nearly touching the ground. Only somehow it isn’t. Somehow, it makes the captain’s heart ache painfully. 

Slowly then, she sinks to her knees, holding Loki against her, and Steve sees him blink rapidly as she takes his face into her hands, his eyes, red and seemingly pupiless as they are, suddenly clearing, gazing up at her.

A sharp breath slips from between his throat, his teeth startlingly white against the darker blue skin of his lips. 

“M-Mother?” His voice comes out a wavering, whispered crack, thick with confusion.

The Queen smiles down at him, the expression strained, her own, blue eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Oh, my darling.” She says, laying her hand across his cheek, across his forehead, pushing her fingers back through the short strands of his hair. 

She leans down then, pressing her lips to his temple, and then against his ear. She whispers something to him, too soft for Steve to make out.

And there are tears then in Loki’s eyes, fresh and slipping down his cheeks. Steve sees them distort and bend as they roll over the raised ridges of the lines running along Loki’s skin, and he’s reaching up, trying to take hold of his mother.

Steve has to look away then, as the Queen does it for them, wrapping her arms about him and crushing him against her, his own, trembling limbs holding her back weakly.

He sees Thor, standing beside Odin, the All-Father speaking also against his eldest son’s ear, again too lowly for Steve to make out.

For a moment, the captain feels like an intruder, glimpsing something too private, too intimate.

And so he turns away, arms folding across his chest, eyes to the gleaming, golden floors beneath him.

He hasn’t even though of how he’s going to explain this to the team. Or worse yet, to Fury.

It doesn’t matter though. Not now.

All that matters is that they’re getting Loki out of here.

All that matters is that Loki’s going to be safe.

//

The trip across the Bifrost is as dizzying and unnatural feeling as Steve remembers. And just like the first time the thing had sucked him up and spit him back out in Asgard, he stumbles slightly, barely catching his footing as it deposits him, Thor and Loki back onto the topmost balcony on Stark Tower.

Even with his head spinning, though, he can barely spare a thought to it.

They’d made it. They’d gotten out of there. And, he thinks, not a moment too soon. 

Loki had not reacted well to Odin’s presence. The moment he’d regained enough cognizance to be aware of his father, he’d be overcome with a plain, heartbreaking panic, frozen and staring wide eyed at the All-Father, even as his trembling hands had clung desperately to his mother.

And while, logically, Steve had known Odin couldn’t offer any outward comfort without jeopardizing the plan, still, it had rankled the captain’s sense of right and wrong, seeing the All-Father continue to act so coldly towards his terrified child.

It had taken some coaxing and effort to get Loki to let go of Frigga, the sight of Loki’s normally collected, calm demeanor so obviously petrified and confused sitting ill with Steve.

But at last they’d managed, Frigga embracing both her children one last time, holding fiercely to Loki, and he to her, before at last relenting.

And now, here they are.

Steve doesn’t think he’s yet truly grasped the reality of it all, when just a few hours earlier, he’d been wrought with such despair and fear.

Though a moment later, and the reality of it comes crashing in on him mercilessly.

There is a strangled groan to his left, and turning, he sees Thor with his arms wrapped round Loki’s thin, trembling shoulders, the younger god doubled over, long hands gripping his head and eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Is he…” Steve starts, alarmed, taking a step towards them.

“He is weakened, and unaccustomed now to the violence of the Bifrost’s magic.” Thor says, rubbing a hand soothingly along his brother’s bony back. “It has made him sick, but he will be alright.”

Steve doesn’t feel so convinced, seeing the pained expression across Loki’s face, his legs shaking precariously. 

He’s barely holding himself up.

“We should get him inside.” Steve starts. “He needs medical attention.”

“Aye.” Thor nods, reaching out and taking hold of his brother’s hand, one arm still wrapped about his shoulders. “Brother, can you walk?” He asks.

Out in the midday sun, Loki’s form looks only more surreal, Steve thinks.

His eyes blink open a moment, and the color of them is startling. With the fuller lighting, the captain can see they aren’t simply one, solid color or red, but that through them are multiple shades, running from lighter where normally would be the whites, to darker, near the iris and then pupil. And through the iris, Steve can now see, there are flecks of amber, almost gold, dotting fully around.

His skin in this light also bears a more dynamic, deeper hue. The artistic eye in Steve can hardly keep up with all the different shades he sees. And the rougher texture of Loki’s skin is also apparent. Beyond the raised lines running in symmetrical patterns across his face, torso and arms, even across the tops of his hands and feet, there seems to be a kind of whirled pattern across the entire expanse of him, subtle but clear if one looks closely.

And again Steve thinks how beautiful Loki is. Even in his wasted away state, with the frame of his bones all too prominent, there is a grace and perfection to the lines of his body. To the perfect formation of that blue skin. 

There are no blemishes. No faults or discolorations. Steve can’t even see any pores, and he wonders suddenly if Loki even has them. He hadn’t even thought about anything like that before.

“I… I think so.” He’s snapped from his ruminations by the sound of Loki’s voice, cracked and weak.

“Here,” Thor says. “allow me to assist you.”

The three of them make it all of two steps before, suddenly, the automatic balcony doors come sliding open, and standing there is Tony, Natasha, Clint and Bruce.

Shit, Steve thinks. 

And then Tony starts talking.

“Okay, well, this is awkward. Hey, welcome back big guy!” He smiles at Thor, before his eyes drop without attempt at subtlety to Loki. “You bring us a present? I’ve gotta say though, Fury’s not gonna be happy with you, bringing an unauthorized alien life form along for your stay. Say, what the heck is that thing anyway?”

“Tony,” Steve starts, moving towards him and the rest of his team, hands held up, already thinking intervention.

He knew they’d find out about Loki quickly. But he’d been hoping to at least get the god somewhere warm, safe and quiet before he had to explain things.

Tony, always quicker than one would assume him capable of being, somehow dodges right underneath Steve’s arms, and is already striding confidently towards Thor and Loki.

“Do we get to experiment on it?” He begins, glib as ever. He’s joking. Steve knows that. It doesn’t keep the captain from wanting to knock Tony’s teeth in. “I mean, damn, look at that skin! I’ve seen some weird looking mutants before, but that’s just bizzaro. I want to touch. Can I touch? Just for a second…”

Abruptly, his incessant chatters trails off, and Steve knows in that instant his teammate’s finally recognized who he’s looking at.

For a beat, there is a heavy silence, and Steve feels himself tense, glancing nervously at his other teammates, and then back to Thor and Loki.

“Hoooly…” Tony starts finally, and Steve feels his eyes close a moment, jaw tightening. “Wait a second, just… hold on a second here…” Tony goes on, turning back to the captain, pointing stupidly at the two gods. “did you just… I mean… you brought… but how…”

“Tony, just stop.” Steve finally snaps, his anxiety getting the better of him.

“What’s going on?” Bruce suddenly speaks up, stepping forward, out of the entryway.

In an instant, whatever control Steve had been hoping to gain over the situation evaporates into nothing.

There is a sharp gasp, and Steve’s gaze snaps to Loki, seeing his eyes blown wide, face twisted in naked terror.

And then he’s wrenching away, out of Thor’s hold, chest rising and falling in a rapid, uneven rhythm.

“Brother!” Thor cries as he loses his hold, reaching out as Loki stumbles backwards clumsily, his already shaky legs wobbling badly. A moment later, and his knees finally give way completely, and he falls, hard and graceless, to the concrete below.

“Brother!?” Steve hears Clint exclaim. “Steve, what the fuck’s he talking about?!”

“Guys, listen to me…” Steve tries desperately to calm everyone.

But Loki is scrambling backwards now on his hands and bottom, eyes fixed, wide as saucers, on Bruce, who stands there, unmoving, looking utter confused.

“Is that Loki!?” Clint presses, the anger in his voice rising, seemingly oblivious to the terrified state of the god.

“I think maybe you should step back Brucie-babe.” Tony says. “It looks like he remembers you just fine.”

“Uhh,” Bruce starts, blinking. A moment later, he seems to register the suggestion, and he lifts his hands, taking a single step backwards.

“Loki, stop!” Thor starts, voice loud with panic, and an instant later, it’s obvious why.

Loki is still scrabbling away, terrified, unaware entirely of the roof’s edge.

Both Thor and Steve have the same thought at the same instant, it seems, as the two of them leap for the god at once.

Thor is closer still, and just as Loki is dangerously close to the lip of the roof, the thunderer lands atop him, throwing massive arms about the skinny frame and tackling Loki to the ground.

Another, sharp cry tears from Loki’s throat, and for a moment, there is a violent struggle, the smaller god fighting with horrified desperation to get away.

He’s forgotten where he is, Steve thinks. Forgotten who he’s with.

“Loki, calm yourself!” Thor yells over the sounds of his little brother’s distress, trying frantically to grab hold of Loki’s flailing arms, thrashing aimlessly in a pitiful attempt to defend himself.

The sight is devastating, and Steve feels his throat constrict, his eyes burning as he hovers uselessly by, hands clenching and unclenching, trying to think of some way to help.

Finally, Thor catches hold of Loki’s wrists, and he pins them down above his brother’s head, his hold firm but not crushing.

Loki’s chest is heaving, his eyes still massive in his too thin face, staring up into Thor’s own, unseeing, uncomprehending, expression stricken. His breath comes out a strangled wheeze, the exertion too much for his malnourished, broken down body, tears thick in the corners of his eyes, just sitting there.

“Calm yourself.” Thor tries again, more gently. “You see me brother. You know me. I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you. Not ever again.” 

Loki’s struggling has stopped now, useless as it was against Thor’s superior strength, recognition finally beginning to light again in his eyes.

“Thor?” He rasps.

Thor nods, smiling weakly.

“Aye Loki.”

Steve kneels down then, keeping a fair distance.

“That’s right buddy.” He says softly, trying to sound encouraging. “You’re alright.” 

Loki’s head turns, blinking rapidly, staring at the captain. Steve can see him swallow thickly, his chest still rising and falling in rapid breaths. 

“Steve…” he starts.

And then Natasha’s voice cuts through the air.

“Clint, wait!” She shouts, and Steve turns, seeing the archer running at them, bow held at the ready and string drawn, arrow already knocked and aimed.

The captain leaps to his feet, throwing himself bodily in front of his teammate and friend.

“Clint, stop!” He snaps loudly.

“Outta my way Cap!” He snarls in return, trying to duck around the bigger man. “I’ll make the fucker sorry he ever came back!”

Steve doesn’t let him through, instead reaching out and placing his hands along Clint’s shoulders, pushing him back.

“I said STOP Agent!” Steve orders, his voice filled with command.

And finally Clint does, glaring up at him in both disbelief and rage.

“What the hell Cap?!” He hisses. “That son of a bitch is a threat to everyone here! I don’t know how he got here, or why, but I don’t plan on letting go with his life! Outta the way!”

“He’s here because I brought him here!” Steve yells, again shoving Clint back, hard enough to make the archer stumble. “God damn it, will you all just shut up and LISTEN TO ME!?”

Stunned silence settles across the roof, all of them staring at him, eyes wide with shock.

Steve feels his breath coming hard and heavy, the strain of the last, several days finally catching up to him, it seems.

He glares back at his teammates, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists.

“Loki needs medical attention.” He starts, voice hard, just daring anyone to interrupt. “That’s the priority here. I won’t be answering any of your questions until he’s properly seen to, and I certainly won’t be indulging any further attempts on Loki’s life or threats to his safety. This man’s been through hell, and right now he needs our help. So you either man the hell up and start acting like the hero’s you’re supposed to be, or you get the hell out of here, right now.”

Again, his only reply is shocked silence, and he spares them all only a glance more before turning back to Thor and his brother.

“Is he alright?” Steve asks the thunder god quietly.

Thor has Loki sitting up now, cradled against his chest. Loki’s breathing still hasn’t returned to normal, a visible tremor running through his frame.

“He will be.” Thor answers, just as softly. “But he is exhausted, and needs to lay down.”

“Right.” Steve says, nodding. He turns to Tony, who’s own expression is tight with upset. There’s no humor left in him.

He’s the only other one, beside Steve and Thor who saw for himself what Loki’s been put through, though he saw only a glimpse. 

“Tony, can you get a room ready?” He asks the engineer. 

Tony’s eyes are fixed on Loki, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, before he seems to register Steve’s question, snapping out of it and looking to the captain.

“Y-yeah.” He starts. “Yeah. Of course. Just, uh… follow me.”

“Come Loki.” Thor says lowly against his brother’s ear, wrapping his arms underneath Loki’s own and lifting him to his feet. 

Loki leans heavily against him, looking terrifyingly frail against the massive bulk of his older brother, and Steve can tell that Thor is for all practical purposes supporting most of Loki’s weight.

“Dr. Banner,” Steve starts as they begin towards the sliding glass doors leading back into the penthouse. “we’ll need your assistance.” 

“Wh-what?” Bruce stammers, looking up at Steve with wide eyes. “Are… are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean…”

The truth is, Steve isn’t sure at all. Loki’s reaction to Bruce had been violent and petrified. But Bruce is also the only member of their team with any kind of medical training at all, and he wants those wounds along Loki’s back to be looked at, and Loki’s overall condition to be examined. 

He knows it’s going to be bad, and they need to get started on figuring out how to get the god healthy again right away.

“We need you Dr. Banner.” He tells his teammate. 

He’s grateful when Bruce simply nods, asking no more questions, only stating that he’ll just need to get his medical kit.

He’s painfully aware of Clint’s gaze, boring into the back of his skull, Natasha at his side, talking quietly to him. 

He ignores it, following Thor and Loki in, after Tony.

Whatever the consequences, he’ll just have to deal with them after they get Loki help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as usual guys, thank you so, so much for your feedback and support of this story! It’s absolutely blown my mind, and believe me, I read and appreciate every single one of your reviews, even if I don’t always get back to you. One reviewer asked me where Tony had gone, and I think there was an explanation in the second chapter, saying that he was recalled back to Earth for PR work for SHIELD and the Avengers.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys continued to enjoy this chapter, and please let me know your thoughts if you have a chance!
> 
> Next chapter, we’re actually going to start shifting perspectives away from juts Steve’s, and the next one up is going to be Loki’s. Which might get a little brutal. But I’ll be sure to put any warnings necessary before the chapter so you know. Thanks so much again!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning guys, the beginning of this chapter entails a graphic rape scene. If that sort of thing bothers you, you can skip the first section before the line break, and resume reading after that.

Loki barely has a chance to climb to his feet before the men are upon him, and he feels the hard bone beneath the knuckles of the one nearest, driven into his teeth and across the bridge of his nose.

The world explodes in white and pain, and a moment later, he’s on the ground again, not really understanding how he’s gotten there.

He curls in on himself, hands over his head, tensing in wait for the feel of their metal tipped boots, sinking into his abdomen or against his ribs.

Another beating, he thinks, and he can’t help feeling afraid.

Only the blow never comes, and an instant later, he’s being hauled up, hands hooking into the pits of his arms and lifting him easily, thick fingers digging into the thin skin, pinching painfully.

He’d dragged over to a rough wooden table, and slammed down against his chest and stomach, over its top, the wind knocked from his already straining lungs.

He hardly has a moment to dwell on the discomfort though before he feels one of the other guards take hold of his wrists and yank his arms out straight, locking them at the elbow and pinning them with brutal force against the table’s surface. The man’s grip is crushing, and Loki chokes back a strangled whimper, worried suddenly that his wrists will be broken. He won’t be able to work if they break his wrists. And if he can’t work, then they’ll…

The edge of the table digs painfully into his stomach as he’s bent double against it. He feels one of the men behind him crowding in against his backside, bending over him, pressing a wide palm against the back of his skull and shoving his face against the table top.

Fear settles like a fog over his thoughts, and unthinkingly, he struggles, tugging, weak and useless, against the hold on his wrists.

No, no, no… he thinks desperately, despairingly. Not again, please, please… not again…

His pitiful fight only results in bellowed laughter all around him, and an instant later, the bleached taste of a wool rag being shoved into his mouth and pulled taught past his teeth coats his tongue, muffling down his already frail protests as it’s tied back and tight.

“Now, now, Prince Loki,” the one pressing at his back leans down, lips against his ear, and Loki can feel his weight, settling across him. “no need for coy behavior. You know you enjoy this well as us.”

Loki tries to scream, an instinctive cry for help, even as he knows with cold logic, were anyone to hear him, no one would come. The rag dampens the sound to nothing more than a whimper, and he knows it’s useless. Just like all the times before.

His eyes close, and he can’t help the wash of tears which suddenly press against his clamped lids, slipping free and down his face.

There’s more laughter all around, and he feels the rough tug against the waistband of his breeches, the feel of damp, cold air against his backside a moment later, in between his legs.

The guard at his back presses his palm harder against the side of his head, crushing his cheek more forcefully against the table’s surface, before running his thick fingers through Loki’s short hair in some mock show of affection.

“That’s a good boy.” He says, close to his ear again. “Just relax and enjoy it.”

Loki wishes he could die. He wishes Odin had let him die, instead of this. 

His body trembles without his consent, hard and uncontrolled, and he struggles to choke down the sobs which lodge suddenly in his throat, closing it up. He isn’t completely successful, trickling out as more, strangled whimpers.

“Will you look at that?” Says one of the men, somewhere in the space. “He can barely contain himself, he’s so excited.”

“Well, you’ve heard the rumors about this one, have you not?” Says another. “He was known for letting any warm creature fill his hole, so long as it had a cock to do it with!”

Another round of laughter, and the press of the guard’s palm against his head finally lifts, rough padded fingers tracing down his back, lifting under the hem of his tattered tunic and kneading violently the flesh underneath.

“Mmmm, he’s argr alright.” He breathes, breath hot against the back of Loki’s neck. “Oh, you should see how he loves it.”

Loki can’t help it, his arms tugging reflexively against the hold of them one last time, raw, naked panic screaming at him to get away.

But he isn’t strong enough, held down as simply as one would a child.

The hand at his back disappears then, and a moment later, there is a wet, popping noise, the sound of someone sucking on their own fingers. 

Immediately, Loki stiffens, knowing what comes next. Another, vain tug of his wrists, and it’s as far as he gets before he feels the awful pressure of those fingers shoved up inside him, first one, then two, then a third.

It hurts, badly, and a choked whine slips passed the gag in his mouth, tears welling thicker and falling, hot down his face.

“That’s right, little Prince,” the one at his back hisses as he leans over Loki again. “tell us how much you want it.”

The fingers twist, pushing farther in, crooking with experience, and unwanted, so horribly, despairingly unwanted, a warm spasm of pleasure shoots up through Loki’s lower belly.

He chokes back the groan which threatens at the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes tighter, and he wants to die. Oh Norns, please, please, he wants to die now. Right now.

Shame is a crushing wave, drowning him beneath its weight.

Another twist of the fingers, and then there’s a warm pressure around the shaft of his penis, squeezing firm, the pad of a thumb against the tip, massaging in a tiny, circular pattern, executed with the same experience.

The warm pleasure again shoots like a spear through Loki’s belly, and his teeth clench, grinding audibly in an attempt to keep himself quiet, his frame ridged and tensed to shaking.

The guard at his back doesn’t relent, continuing on in his ministrations, until, to his unutterable shame and horror, Loki can feel himself growing erect, the pleasure his body feels mounting in waves, even as his mind screams for it to stop.

And he can’t stop the moan which finally slips free past the now saliva soaked rag as the guard once more crooks his fingers and presses them, digging the nail of his thumb against the slit along the head of his penis, slick now with pre-cum.

“Oh, I think he’s ready then, don’t you?” The guard asks his companions, and there’s a chorus of affirmations.

Another, broken groan breaks loose from Loki as the man pulls his fingers free, the pressure releasing, and Loki feels his body sag limply against the table’s surface, the tears unceasing as they continue to slip past his lids.

He refuses to open his eyes, refuses to see. Refuses to look as others witness his shame.

His face burns hot with his humiliation as he knows he won’t be able to stop this. That he can’t stop this. Oh, gods, gods, why… why is this happening? Why does this have to happen?

There comes no answer but for his own voice, telling him it is because he is a monster. Because he deserves this and a thousand times worse. Because he’s never been good for anything but as a tool for the purposes of others.

He stiffens again as he feels the man at his back slide into him in one, swift thrust, the line of his hips hard and forceful against Loki’s thighs.

His fingers curl, digging hard enough into his palms to break the skin, his jaw clenching as the guard begins to thrust into him, pulling out nearly all the way before driving back in, slamming again and again against the same point as he’d had his fingers.

The hand around Loki’s penis continues tugging, calloused palm sliding up and down the shaft with practiced ease, thumb rubbing hard, determined circles against the head.

The please builds at a rapid rate, rippling through, radiating from low in his belly, pulsing into his crotch and tingling out to his very extremities, washing over him in a wave, and Loki knows he’s going to come. 

He tries to stop it, even as he knows it’s useless. He holds himself tense and ridged and unyielding, fighting… fighting. Oh gods, please, don’t let this happen…

But his prayers are meaningless. The fates care nothing for his pleas.

A choked groan rips past his forced apart lips, and he tries to cut it off from dragging out long, failing as he ejaculates, hard and violent, his cum spilling over the hand still pumping him, hitting the underside of the table.

It seems to last forever, wave after wave of disgusting pleasure tearing through him, until finally it recedes, and Loki sags, limp and boneless against the tables surface, hands going slack and face lolling onto its side.

The guard inside him isn’t finished yet, and continues driving into him, letting go of his penis to take hold of his hips, nails digging into his skin.

Loki doesn’t know how long it is before he hears the man cry out in his own pleasure, and feels the warmth of his seed pouring into him, sliding down the inside of his thighs.

And then it’s over. The man pulls out, letting go of his hips, the one holding his wrists finally releasing him. 

Loki barely registers the slap the guard gives to his backside, and then he’s being hauled up off the table and shoved to the ground, his breeches still down around his ankles.

He keeps his eyes closed, his arms coming up over his head.

There comes more laughter, someone nudging his shoulder with the tip of their boot.

“Thanks for the good fuck, my Lord.” He hears. “I suppose until we meet again.”

And then he’s alone. Blessedly.

For a long time afterwards, he can only lay there, his mind unrelenting, thoughts unceasing in their torment of him.

He cannot not even find the will to cover himself. To find the resolve.

He doesn’t know why he’s still alive. Why can’t he die? Why can’t this end? Is he really so cursed? So pathetic that he cannot even die?

Finally, after how long he does not know, he uncurls himself and reaches down, fingers groping blindly for the waistband of his trousers, pulling them up, clumsily and one handed. He doesn’t know why he even bothers. 

He can still feel the warmth of blood and cum down the insides of his legs.

The assault flashes through his mind. 

His own reactions…

And at once he becomes sick, bile rising fast and hard up from the pit of his stomach, into his throat.

He just barely makes it to his knees before he’s doubled over and throwing up violently onto the ground.

Only there isn’t any real food in his stomach, and it mostly comes up saliva and water.

He gags, and chokes, and continues to dry heave for several, long seconds, before finally the sickness passes, and he collapses back onto his side.

His arms come up around himself, knees drawn to his chest.

He thinks of Thor, and how ashamed of him his brother must be.

He thinks of Mother…

Imagines her beautiful face, twisted in disgust as she gazes upon him.

He doesn’t know when it is he begins to cry. Only realizes a while later the sound of weeping is his own, and feels the hot moisture against his cheeks as the tears slip from his eyes.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

There is too much noise.

Too much everything.

Loki doesn’t even know how he got here. Not really.

One moment, he was in the slave barracks. Then there were those same men again… those same guards. They were going to… to…

And then Thor was there, and… and Steve… and they were taking him away.

And then there was Mother, and she was telling him she loved him, despite everything… despite his own shame, and he couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand why, why would she still love him? How could she? And if she knew, if she knew of his shame, of the shame he would bring her just by association, surely then she would turn from him in repulsion.

But she told him she loved him, and that Thor and Steve were going to take him away, that they were going to bring him to Midgard, where he would be safe. Where he wouldn’t be beaten anymore, and flogged. Where those men could no longer… no longer…

And then there had been Odin, and he’d been so sure they’d been discovered, and that Odin was going to hurt Mother and… and Thor and Steve, and it was all going to be his fault again. It was all going to be his doing. And why did he have to destroy everything good? Why did everyone he touched get hurt? And why couldn’t they learn to leave him? Why couldn’t they learn that?

For their own good, they needed to leave him be.

And now there is too much noise, there are too many people. 

Thor’s friends. The… the one’s who’d defeated the Chitauri and… and him. The one’s he’d counted on to… to…

And then there’s that man. 

The one who, like him, hides beneath his skin a monster.

And all Loki can think then is pain, pain, pain and fear.

He remembers the agony of feeling his bones crush and break against stone floors, the whip of air, slicing against his face, and the sound of breaking, crumbling rock. The hurt of his neck snapping too quickly in one direction, only to be pulled instantly and violently in the other, the world spinning in too fast, nauseating circles and the taste of blood and bile against his tongue, burning at his throat.

The feel of being utterly, completely helpless in the grip of another. Having no strength against it, no hope. Worse even than it ever was against Thor. He’s never felt so physically weak except for when… when…

And he panics.

The world around him fades to nothing, and he hears only a deafening roar, broad, hideous features twisted in blind, singular fury.

And he feels himself falling, down, down, down and he has to get away. Get away!

But the thing has a hold of him now, pinning him down, crushing him like he’s nothing, nothing, and he isn’t strong enough to break free! He isn’t strong enough to do anything, even as he thrashes and struggles with every ounce of his pitiful strength.

He thinks of his youth.

Thinks of early days on the training fields, before he’d learned to wield his power. Before he’d learned to use his speed and agility and he’d found himself trapped in the grip of the other children, always so much bigger and stronger than him, and he could never get away as they pushed him into the dirty and beat him over and over and over and…

Thinks of Thor, holding him down while Brokk sewed his lips shut…

Thinks of… hears… hears…

“Loki, calm yourself! Calm yourself. You see me brother. You know me. I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you. Not ever again.” 

And the world comes rushing back in.

He blinks, staring up into his brother’s face.

He thinks for a moment it should be twisted in rage and disgust.

But as his vision clears, and he looks truly, Thor’s face is lined only in concern, his features soft and reassuring and kind.

“Thor?” He asks, and his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.

“Aye.” He hears Thor say, and he smiles at Loki, and Loki thinks he might cry.

He wants suddenly, desperately to hold onto Thor and not let go. Wants Thor to hold him back, strong arms about him and the certainty, the absolute certainty that with him there, with his big brother there to protect him, no one could ever hurt him. No one could…

“That’s right buddy.” He hears from somewhere off to the side. “You’re alright.”

And he recognizes this voice too. There are flashes of a kind, handsome face, and gentle hands, holding onto his own, touching him without intent to hurt...

He turns his face, and there he sees the soldier. The captain.

“Steve…” he breathes, and there is such relief which grips him then, and he wonders when it is, he started to associated the good-hearted mortal with safety too.

Only then there is too much noise again, people shouting, a cacophony of sound assaulting his ears, and once more he can feel himself slipping away from the present, pushing it out. Pushing it away.

He’d learned to do this over the years of enslavement.

To forget the world.

Sometimes it…

Sometimes, it made it bearable. Sometimes…

He thinks Thor has him then. Can feel his brother’s arms around him.

He isn’t sure beyond that.

But it hardly matters.

He hears Thor’s voice, telling him he’s safe. Telling him he won’t let anyone hurt him. And he lets himself believe that. Just this once. He lets that be enough.

//

Thor takes him to a room that is quiet and dark. Ahead of them is the man in the mechanical suit, the one who had accompanied the captain to Asgard, before disappearing. 

Loki pays him little mind, clinging to Thor as he leads him to a large, raised mattress, and begins to lower him to it.

Loki thinks to himself that he should let go. Should uncurl his fingers from around his brother’s thick arm.

He thinks he’s supposed to hate Thor. Supposed to feel rage and betrayal towards the elder god, for leaving him… for abandoning him to… to everything.

But those feelings are gone now to distant memory. He isn’t sure if they were ever real.

And Thor means safety. He means warmth and protection and kindness.

He can’t let go, and eventually, he feels Thor’s stronger hands, gently prying his fingers away and pushing his arms to his sides.

“It is alright brother.” He says softly. “I will not leave you.”

Loki blinks, lifting his gaze to Thor and staring back at him. He sees no deception in his brother’s face.

Thor never could lie. Pure hearted, righteous, heroic Thor. 

He never could lie.

And oh, wasn’t that the reason it hurt so much, all those times he spoke ill of Loki? All those times he left him behind, and told him no, told him he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, was too much of a coward and to know your place Loki. Know your place.

Always at Thor’s back.

Always in Thor’s shadow.

That was Loki’s place.

He’d been a fool to think he could stand in the sun with his brother.

He feels the drag of fabric against his bare shoulders and back, the sting only slight against his wounds as Thor pulls his cloak away from him, leaving his torso naked.

Instinctively, Loki’s arms come up around himself, his head bowing down, hiding away.

There’s a sharp hiss from somewhere in the room, and for a moment, Loki’s heart slams sickeningly against his chest, fear crackling through him as he looks up and sees the beast stood by the rooms entryway, staring back at him with wide, alarmed eyes, some sort of large, black case held in his hands.

“Fuck.” The mechanical man mutters from someplace else. “What did they do to him?”

“They stoned him, and then whipped him again.” 

That’s Steve’s voice, and Loki’s eyes shift to him, standing just a little ways back from Thor. His face is fixed in a scowl, angry, and Loki wonders if he’s done something wrong. If the captain is angry at him.

He hopes not. 

He likes the captain.

“Tony, would you go get him some water?” Steve goes on, and Thor is kneeling in front of him, taking Loki’s skeletally thin hands into his own, holding them loosely.

“Right.” Tony says, moving for the door.

“Loki,” Thor starts softly, and Loki looks down at him. “I know you are fearful of him, but Bruce is a good man, and he is a healer. He can help you, if you but allow him.”

Bruce?

Loki swallows, uncertain a moment, before memory catches up with him, and he recalls that is the title by which the beast calls himself when he is in the guise of a man.

There is a shift at his periphery, and Loki’s eyes snap to where the beast stands, seeing he’s moved closer. Loki feels himself tense to shaking, unable to suppress the strangled gasp which slips from his throat.

Thor’s hands tighten over his, holding him still.

“It’s alright brother.” He says, voice urgent and pleading. “He isn’t going to hurt you. I swear to you.”

“Th-Thor…” Loki stammers out, his mouth dry and fingers numb. “please…”

“It’s alright Loki.” His brother again promises, and the beast has stopped again, hands held up.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” He says, and Loki cannot help the flinch at the creature’s voice, soft and benign though it seems.

“But he needs help.” Steve starts, stepping closer to Loki and kneeling down, beside Thor. “Loki,” he says, reaching out and laying a hand along Loki’s shoulder.

Loki’s head turns, staring down at the captain, a strange sort of ease coming over him at the sight of the mortal.

Steve smiles at him, and the tension in Loki’s frame lessens only just.

“Thor’s right.” He says. “Bruce isn’t going to hurt you. Alright? He only wants to take a look at those wounds on your back and make sure everything else is alright. He wants to help you.”

The mechanical man comes back into the room then, moving towards them, a glass of water held in his hand. 

“Here you go kiddo.” He says, holding the glass out towards Loki.

Loki stares at it a long moment, uncertain. He thinks it could be poisoned, though the water contained within looks clear, and he smells nothing odd. 

And he’s thirsty. Oh gods, is he thirsty. 

“It is alright brother.” Thor says, seeming to realize his worry.

And he takes the glass from the mechanical man and drinks from it himself, showing it to be unsullied.

That’s all it takes. When he then holds the glass out to him, Loki takes it with shaking hands, and brings it to his lips, tipping it back and swallowing too much, too quickly. Half the water escapes down his chin, and his eyes sting at the flow of liquid down his dry, raw throat.

But he can’t make himself stop, and within moments, the glass is drained.

It’s only afterwards, Loki realizes he may have overstepped his allowance, and a sudden fear washes through him, eyes wide as his hands tighten around the flimsy glass, the material creaking ominously beneath his grip.

He flinches violently when the glass is pulled abruptly from his hands, relaxing only after he realizes it is the captain who’s taken it from him, smiling softly at him in return.

“We don’t want you to cut yourself Loki.” He says, and then he’s handing the glass back to the mechanical man, and asking him to fetch more water.

“So is it alright?” Steve goes on then. “If Bruce takes a look at you? We promise, we aren’t going to let anything happen to you Loki. You’re safe here.”

Steve is asking, as though Loki has a choice. 

The very notion is absurd, and Loki knows it is only pretense. 

It is only that both Steve and Thor are too kind to present their demands now as orders. They want Loki to feel comforted, and the generosity of their attitude is not lost on the former prince.

He doesn’t want to beast near him. He doesn’t want his hands on him at all. Doesn’t want…

But there is no choice. He knows that too.

And though he believes the captain’s gentility to be sincere, and Thor’s as well, he knows too such things can change swift and without need of real reason. Simple refusal on Loki’s part would be enough…

And so he nods, stiff and wary, feeling his stomach lurch as what he’s just agreed to dawns on him.

But it earns him a smile in turn, both from the captain and his brother, and Loki thinks he must have done good.

Hopes he has…

“Okay.” Steve nods, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright.”

The mechanical man’s come back again, this time resting the glass of water on a nightstand by the bed.

“Loki’s agreed to let Bruce look him over.” The captain’s explaining to him, and the mechanical man is nodding. 

“We can step out then.” Steve goes on, turning towards Loki, expression questioning. “Would you like us to?” He asks.

Again, more pretense, the illusion of choice. It is kind. Loki does not understand why the captain continues to treat him thus.

“I will remain.” Thor says when Loki doesn’t answer. He looks to Steve. “My brother is accustomed to me seeing him. And it will make him feel more secure.” 

Steve nods.

“Alright.” He says, and then he has a hand on the back of the mechanical man, and he’s guiding him towards the room’s entrance. “We’ll just be outside then, if you need us.”

And then he’s gone, along with the other, the door closing behind them, leaving Loki alone with Thor and the beast.

Loki doesn’t want him near him, but he forces himself to stay still as the creature comes closer, slow and cautious, as though he’s afraid too. The thought is almost comical. As if he could hurt the creature. But Loki finds little reason to laugh.

“You’re sure he’s alright with this?” The beast says, standing back a few feet.

Thor nods, keeping his eyes on Loki.

“Aye.” He answers. “Come brother, let me help you from these.” He tugs gently on the waistband of Loki’s breeches, and Loki simply nods in acquiescence, shoving down the anxiety which takes sudden, unyielding hold of his insides. 

Thor won’t let the creature… he won’t let him…

He swallows thickly, shame burning his face at the thoughts, and he turns it away, eyes closing.

“Is he…” the beast starts to ask something as Thor lies Loki onto his back and undoes the laces of his breeches, beginning to tug them down his hips.

“The damage runs ‘cross the whole of him.” Thor starts, finally pulling the garment free. Loki wants to curl in on himself. Wants to hide away and not let anyone see. Not allow anyone to know his shame. He forces himself to remain as he is, clenching his jaw hard and keeping his eyes shut. “I think it best you examine the whole of his form my friend.”

“Right…” the beast replies warily. 

Loki wonders if he’s disgusted by the sight of him. If his Jotun skin is so hideous that it repulses even a monster such as the Hulk.

He feels the weight and warmth of Thor’s hand then, resting against his forehead, his other taking hold Loki’s curled fingers.

“Is this well brother?” He asks quietly. “Are you comfortable?”

No, Loki thinks. No. He wants to be away now. He wants to hide away where no one can see him. His throat feels tight with humiliation.

Instead he nods, jerky and stiff.

“Very well then.” Thor replies, relief in his voice. “Bruce?”

Loki hears him shifting closer, but still he refuses to open his eyes.

His frame tenses, and he can’t keep himself from jerking hard when he hears the creature’s voice, right beside him, from the other side of the bed.

Thor’s hand squeezes tighter over his, and he squeezes back.

“I guess,” the beast says. “I should take a look at his back first. Can… can you roll over onto your stomach for me Loki?” 

He sounds so timid, and again, it strikes Loki as absurd.

What reason has he for such wariness?

Loki gives no response, simply doing as he’s told, rolling over onto his side, and then his stomach as Thor lets go his hand.

His fingers dig into the material of the mattress, and he bites down hard on his lip when he feels rough, small hands touching his back, warm and awful.

Tears burn against the backs of his eyes, and he keeps them shut, trying to block out the world.

Trying so hard not to remember.


	11. Chapter 11

“Alright Cap, spill.” Clint stands inches from Steve’s face, glaring up at him, arms crossed and expression twisted in fury. “What the hell’s going on? Why the hell is that piece of shit here?”

Steve can’t keep the frown from his own face, a flash of frustrated anger curling in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t call him that.” He snaps unthinkingly, and then exhales sharply, trying to reign in his emotions. “Just…”

Only Clint’s expression has turned incredulous and disgusted now.

“Don’t call him that?” He starts. “Why the hell not? What, you and him best buddies now or something?”

“Just give me a minute to explain!” Steve shoots back, patience wearing thin.

“Uh, if I may…” Tony’s suddenly stepping between the two of them. “I can probably elaborate for the simple masses here.” He grins at Clint, but the archer has no humor left in him, his rage stamping all trace of it from his features. 

“Right,” Tony says, turning back to Steve and again to Clint. “I probably should have said something sooner, but Fury’s kept us all so damn busy and I just kind of… forgot…”

Tony, Steve realizes, actually sounds ashamed. It’s shocking enough that the captain can only stand and stare, blinking stupidly.

“Okay, so,” Tony starts up again, seeming to realize the awkwardness of the situation. “when I went with Steve to Asgard, while Thor was giving us the whole razzle dazzle, extravagant tour of his big, beautiful palace, we, uh, kind of came across a man being, you know… whipped, you know, across the back… kind of like they used to do to black slaves here in the good ol’ US of A. 

And so then Thor tries to stop me and Steve from checking it out, all hot and bothered, but you know Cap, when he sees injustice happening, nothing’s going to stand in his way from stepping in. Anyway, long story short, we get up to the guy being whipped, Thor’s having a meltdown, trying to make us leave, telling us the dude’s a salve and shit, you know, Steve goes around to the guys front and tries to give him water and… well, it’s Loki. Awkward, huh? It was all pretty fucked up, and Thor was obviously super upset about the whole thing. Turns out Big Daddy up above condemned his own son to slavery, which apparently is a pretty brutal fate up in ye land of the gods, and that’s what ol’ Reindeer Games has been up to for the past eight or so years.”

Tony glances back to Steve, giving an almost sheepish grin.

“So, I guess you couldn’t just stand by and let it sit after all, huh Cap? We aren’t, like, gonna have Asgard coming down on our heads for this shit, are we? Because I think that would turn Fury’s already generally very surely attitude into overdrive pissiness, and I know nobody here wants that.”

Tony’s tone, as ever, is flippant, but Steve can’t help but feel a modicum of relief over his seeming acceptance of the situation. Tony seems alright with it all, despite the abruptness of it. It’s the others the captain finds himself concerned over. Clint and Natasha still look anything but pleased, or even moved by Tony’s rambling explanation, though Natasha’s expression is, as ever, impossible to read.

After a moment of dragging silence, Clint throws his hands into the air.

“So!? What, I’m supposed to feel sorry for the fucker?! Sounds to me like the bastard got exactly what he deserved! Or have you conveniently forgotten how that psycho mass murderer enslaved me!?”

“Clint, listen to me.” Steve started, trying to keep the edge from his voice and not entirely succeeding. “You don’t understand. You weren’t there. You didn’t see it. They were torturing him, in ways I can’t even… I can’t even begin to describe. Tony only saw the barest minimum of what they were doing. Look, we defeated Loki, we sent him back to Asgard without ever questioning or wondering what it was we were sending him back to. It was our responsibility to care, and we dropped the ball on that. We failed.”

He takes a deep breath, trying again to keep his voice calm.

“I couldn’t leave him there. He isn’t… he isn’t who we thought he was.”

“What, Cap? You’re denying now that he’s a murdering bastard? You saw him kill people with your own eyes man!” 

“And I’m telling you, he’s more than that!” Steve snaps angrily. “Listen, we’ve all killed people. We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of, or which weren’t… weren’t right, but…”

He glances at Natasha and sees the first real flicker of emotion flash across her face before being quickly wiped away.

“None of us have tried to take over another planet though Cap!” Clint continues to argue heatedly. “And what’s his fucking excuse!? Daddy didn’t love him enough? Oh, boo hoo. We’ve all had tough lives Steve. It doesn’t excuse turning into a freak like that.”

“Yeah, well, it also doesn’t make it alright for us to turn the other way when we see someone being tortured or treated like less than dirt!” Steve yells. “We’re supposed to be the good guys Clint, but you’d stand there and let someone who’s already been brought low get repeatedly kicked. That’s not being a good guy Clint. That’s being petty and cruel and no better than the guys we fight against. It doesn’t solve anything. What’s more…” he surges on when he sees Clint’s mouth open like he’s about to argue further. “I know it doesn’t mean a whole lot to you, willing as you seem to condemn without a second thought, but I spent a lot of time up there, talking to Loki, and he isn’t anything like what we thought. He isn’t the crazed lunatic we thought. You just… you just have to give him a chance.”

Clint’s expression is purely incredulous, his jaw working a moment as though struggling for words.

“A chance?” He finally manages to spit out. He shakes his head. “Wow, Cap, you really are the most gullible idiot I’ve ever met. Does the fact this guy’s called the god of lies mean anything to you!? He’s a fucking master manipulator! You didn’t stop to think for a second maybe he’s conning you!?”

Steve feels his entire frame stiffen, shaking his head in return.

“You really think that little of me, huh Clint? You think I’m that stupid? Of course I considered it. I looked for it. And I’m telling you right now, Loki isn’t faking anything. You weren’t there Clint. You couldn’t know. He was being so badly tortured, he wouldn’t have had the physical or mental capacity to lay out a manipulation that sophisticated. You may think I’m dumb, and gullible, and an easy mark. That’s fine. I don’t care. But I won’t allow you to further hurt someone who’s already lost everything. Got that?”

“Okay, okay boys.” Tony suddenly threw his hands up, pushing the two of them apart. “Let’s take a deep breath, regroup maybe? Hey, isn’t this exactly what happened last time Loki was around? I seem to recall the lot of us bitching at each other like small, stupid children. Weird, huh?”

Steve glances at him, mouth opening, ready to counter that this situation couldn’t be more different.

He never gets the chance, as suddenly from behind the closed door where Steve had left Loki, Thor and Bruce, there comes a loud, sharp cry.

The four of them share a concerned look only a moment, before they find themselves charging off towards the room.

Steve gets there first, not even bothering to knock before flinging the door wide and rushing in, stopping just beyond the room’s threshold, eyes wide and shocked.

He feels Clint, Tony and Natasha crowding in behind him.

“What the…” Tony starts, and then stops, voice trailing into silence.

Steve understands why.

Loki is lying on the bed still, trembling visibly, eyes shot wide and face stricken with terror.

Standing at his side, arms upraised in a display of pleading, is Thor, his own face twisted in some strange mixture of despair and horror.

And at Loki’s other side, bent over him, fixed in his position, is Bruce, his expression pained and terrified, his wrist caught up in Loki’s shaking fingers.

Even from where he’s standing, Steve can see Loki’s grip is dangerously tight.

Loki is staring Bruce in the face, and there is so much confusion underneath the fear.

“Brother, please,” Thor begins, voice thick and unsteady. “let Dr. Banner go.”

Loki’s grip though doesn’t loosen. He seems not to hear Thor at all.

“Loki,” Bruce tries, his own voice thin with obvious pain and stress. “l-listen to me, please. You… you’ve got to let me go. I can’t… he’ll… th-the other guy will…”

He chokes off as Loki’s grip tightens further, what seems an involuntary reflex as the god shakes his head back and forth in denial. 

“Brother, I beg you…” Thor motions forward, halting abruptly, hand reached out.

This is bad.

This is so, so bad, Steve thinks, mind racing and frantic as the reality of the situation settles on him.

Bruce is going to turn. He’s going to turn, and when the Hulk sees Loki, none of them are going to be able to talk him down or explain to him what’s going on. The only one here capable of even stopping him would be Thor, and Loki would be caught in the middle between them.

“What’s going on?” The captain stammers out after a moment. “What happened?”

Thor’s anguish seems to be increasing by the moment, Bruce’s control over himself unraveling as his face lines in obvious agony now.

“I know not.” Thor starts, never taking his eyes from his brother and Bruce. “Dr. Banner was giving his examination and… and…”

“I put my hands somewhere I shouldn’t have.” Bruce hisses between his teeth, clearly struggling as sweat builds thicker upon his forehead. “I sh-shoulda’ known better, and he just got scared…”

Steve steps forward, and then halts, thoughts scrambling for something, anything he might do to stop this, to keep it from exploding. 

“Outta the way Cap.” He hears Clint suddenly, right at his back. “I’ll take care of this.”

And then the archer is shoving past him, his bow drawn in his hands, arrow again knocked.

“Clint, no!” Steve shouts, hand shooting out to grab hold his teammates arm, but Clint’s already out of reach, striding fast and unrelenting towards the scene, arrow aimed and ready to loose at Loki as the god lies trembling still, fingers tightening by the moment round Bruce’s wrist.

“You will not…” Thor turns, voice all at once boomingly loud, face lining in rage as he moves to block Clint’s line of sight.

It all happens so fast then, Steve isn’t even certain of it until well after the fact.

There is a loud crack, sickening and ugly as it echoes through the space, followed with immediacy by Bruce’s pained cry.

And then everything falls strangely, deafeningly silent, the moment seeming to stretch into an eternity as it dawns on all of them what it is that’s just happened.

By then it’s too late.

It’s like some surreal dream, as Steve watches Loki’s grip round Bruce’s limp and misaligned wrist slip free, the god’s eyes wide and vibrating, face deathly pale and lips parted in shock and fear.

Bruce stumbles back, turning, shoulders hunched and heaving, loud, ragged breathes escaping his throat, and Steve knows he’s already making the transformation.

Knows there’s no hope in talking the doctor down from this.

Instinct kicks in.

“Get him out of here!” He shouts, dashing towards the bed. “Get Loki out of here! The rest of you too! Thor…”

But the thunder god is already well ahead of him, scooping Loki up as easily as he would a child, turning with him in his arms towards Steve.

“Take him!” He says urgently. “I will hold Banner off best I can until you are able to reach safety!”

Wordlessly, the captain takes the younger god, cradling him awkwardly against his chest, Loki’s absurdly long limbs making him difficult to hold.

“Hooooly shit,” he hears Tony behind him, and knows its cause as he listens to the sounds of Bruce’s violent transformation, the doctor grunting and hissing and growling, voice deepening and growing in volume by the second.

Loki is shaking uncontrollably in his hold, and as the captain glances down, he catches sight of the god’s face, pale, ashen and stricken with terror, eyes huge and overbright. He knows what he’s done suddenly. Knows what’s happening.

“I’m sorry…” he chokes out abruptly, voice thick with fear. “I’m sorry…”

Something in the words strikes Steve wrong, and he wants to tell Loki he doesn’t have anything to be sorry for here. Wants to tell him it’s okay.

But they’ve run out of time now. The sound of Bruce’s clothes tearing apart fills the air, and both Tony’s and Natasha’s frenzied cries to move out.

It’s all a blur of motion and panic, Steve breaking for the room’s exit, following close on the heels of his teammates.

An enraged roar shatters against his ears, close enough to make his mouth turn dry and the blood freeze in his veins. Behind it, he hears Thor erupt into his own, unintelligible war cry, just as loud, just as overwhelming.

Against him, he hears Loki, a broken, near soundless whine drifting up from where his face is buried against the captain’s chest.

Steve just keeps moving. He holds Loki tighter against him and just keeps running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, again, huge thank you’s to all my readers and/or reviewers! I hope you’re continuing to enjoy the story and as always, your feedback is appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

Loki's breaths are harsh and almost overwhelmingly loud in the confined space. He's hyperventilating, and Steve can feel himself starting to panic, watching the god as he crouches low in the corner of the room, hands over his head, his back to all of them. Even several feet away, the captain can see him trembling viciously.

Steve finds himself torn, wanting almost desperately to go to Loki and offer him some sort of comfort

Even this deep down in the tower, in the bowels of Tony's lab, the sounds of the battle overhead can be heard, the sounds of glass shattering and metal being torn asunder. The rage of the Hulk's and Thor's voices both echoing like booming thunder.

Making it all worse is the bitter arguing going on between his teammates now. Clint and Tony argue the hottest, practically screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, Natasha adding words in her frighteningly calm, understated tone, her attention halfway between the two men and Loki.

"My fault!?" Clint yells. "How is this my fault?! I was just trying to protect the team! It's you who's been defending Cap's decision to bring that… that son of a bitch here!"

"If you hadn't rushed at him like that, then he wouldn't have snapped Bruce's wrist!" Tony yells back. "That's how it's your fault!"

"Oh my GOD! I don't…"

"GUYS!" Steve finally snaps, unable to stand it another moment, seeing too that Loki is clearly being affected by their raised voices, flinching violently at their harsh tones, hunkering so low to the floor now, he's practically flat against his face.

Tony and Clint fall silent at the commanding tone of his own voice, turning towards him with dumbfounded expressions.

Steve glares back at them with disapproving eyes, shaking his head.

"Whatever else you might think, about the situation, about my decision making, none of it matters now. If you haven't noticed, we've got a full scale Hulk crises going on above our heads, and a traumatized victim, and don't you say a word Clint, in our charge. You three acting like children isn't helping anyone, or anything, and if you'd take a moment to actually evaluate your own behavior, you'd see your making it worse for him!"

He points then to Loki, who remains curled in on himself along the floor, turned away, seemingly oblivious to the words being spoken.

"Now I don't like to pull rank, but I'm the leader of this team. We all agreed to this. And right now, as leader, I'm ordering the lot of you to calm down, pull yourselves together, for your sake as well as Loki's. Tony, I want you to suit up and go help Thor contain the situation upstairs. Clint and Natasha, I want you down here with me, and help me with Loki. I don't give a damn about how uncomfortable you are. He needs medical attention and he needs it stat. Now let's go!"

He turns towards Loki, expecting fully to be listened to. It takes a few moments longer than he would like, but eventually he hears the action of his teammates behind him, complying.

By then he's already reached the god, crouching carefully down at his side, reaching out a hand and laying it gently along Loki's bony back.

Loki flinches badly at the contact, and Steve does his best to hush him.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's alright Loki." He says, keeping his voice soothing and quiet. "We just want to help you."

"I'm sorry." Loki chokes out again, voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't… you sh-shouldn't have taken me from Asgard. You should have left me. I… I d-destroy everything. Everything I touch is l-left in ruin, I…"

"Shhh, Loki, come on." Steve says, feeling his throat tighten uncomfortably as emotion surges from the pit of his stomach, making his own eyes sting. "Don't say that man. It's not true. Things just got out of hand. This isn't your fault. Alright? You didn't mean for this to happen."

"I n-never mean… mean for it. Th-that's little the point. I am a mm-monster. I sew ruin and destruction an-and…"

"Loki, stop. Stop it." Steve says, unable to bear listening anymore.

"No, you know. He's right." Clint says suddenly, stopping along Loki's other side.

Steve's head snaps up, fury already creasing his features.

"Clint," he starts in warning, but the archer has his eyes trained on Loki, hard and mean.

"You're a God damned monster." He goes on, unhindered, talking directly to the god now. "You should be put down like a rabid dog. Put out of your own fucking misery."

Steve stands abruptly then, towering over his teammate.

"Clint, shut up." He says, voice like granite. "Just shut the hell up."

"You know what Cap," Clint's eyes snap up to him finally. "you shut the hell up. Maybe when the freak show takes over your mind and makes you murder your friends, you can come and talk to me about wrong and right. But until then, you've got no authority. No fucking authority."

"Clint, come on." Natasha steps in now, taking hold of him by the arm. "Let's just calm down for a minute."

"Why!? Why should I stay calm?" The archer spits, turning towards her.

"Because Cap's right. It's not gonna do anyone any good right now to lose our cool. It's…"

Clint rips his arm savagely from her hold, stepping back.

"So you're taking his side now?" He asks hotly. "You're taking this fucking piece of shit's side!?"

He gestures angrily towards Loki.

"Clint, you know that isn't what I'm…"

"ENOUGH!" Steve shouts, his voice boomingly loud in the space of the lab. He sees Loki again flinch out of his periphery and feels a coil of guilt unravel in his stomach, but he pushes it aside. He didn't intend to frighten the god, but the situation is getting out of control. "Clint, get out of here." He says flatly when he has Clint and Natasha's attention.

"What?" Clint starts, anger clear in his tone. "Cap, I…"

"Out Clint. You're not helping the situation, so that means your hindering it. I need you to go out of here and find some place else to hunker down until the situation with Bruce is resolved."

For a moment it looks like the archer is actually going to argue with him, but then his face twists into a disgusted sneer, waving them all off.

"Forget it." He growls, before turning abruptly on his heel and marching out of the lab.

Steve and Natasha watch him go.

Steve doesn't exactly feel good about the situation. He understands Clint's anger, and his feeling of betrayal. But he also knows that Clint didn't see what he did back up in Asgard. Didn't see the things that were done to Loki. He likes to think that if Clint knew, if he knew, he'd understand.

There was no way Steve could have left Loki there. No way. It didn't matter what he'd done before. No one deserved that. And as he'd come to realize, after talking with Thor's younger brother… Loki wasn't some mindless killer. Wasn't a savage, unfeeling psychopath.

He was so much more.

Steve just hoped that when the others cooled down a little and actually took a moment to speak with Loki, they would understand that. They would understand his call.

"Natasha," he finally starts, turning to her. "help me out here." He nods towards Loki, who's sitting up a little straighter now, his arms wrapped round his torso in a painfully obvious attempt at protection.

It makes Steve's heart ache to see it. Knowing how, for the past eight years, Loki has had no more ability to defend himself than that, no means of fighting for himself at all.

"Loki," he says, once more crouching beside him, putting an arm round his shoulders, trying to ignore how painfully thin the god is. "Tony has a room down here with a bed. He uses it to sleep when he works late. I want to move you there for now. Alright?"

Loki just nods jerkily, not looking at him.

"Can you stand, do you think? Or do you need me to carry you?"

"… I… I can stand." Loki answers, his voice a harsh rasp.

He wipes clumsily at his eyes with the palms of his hands, and for a moment Steve finds himself having to look away for all the deep cuts and torn apart skin along the god's hands, his nails ragged and caked under with dirt and blood and who knows what else, his knuckles split open.

As it turns out, Loki's barely able to get to his feet, nearly collapsing to his knees before Steve and Natasha both catch him by his elbows and support his weight.

"I'm sorry." Loki says, voice wavering, the apology coming automatically it seems.

"You didn't do anything." Steve tells him. "It's alright."

Loki says nothing to that.

It's a process, getting Loki across the space of the lab and to the room where Tony keeps the spare bed. Several times Steve is struck by the urge to simply lift Loki into his arms and carry him, but he restrains himself.

Loki has so little pride to him left, and the captain doesn't wish to deprive him of this one dignity.

When they finally do reach the bed, helping Loki into it, Loki collapses with heaving breathes, completely worn out from the short journey, his brow thick with sweat, his limbs trembling.

He apologizes again, and then looks for a moment terrified when Steve sighs, as though he realizes he's done something wrong and surely then he'll be punished.

"It's alright." Steve hurries to assure. "Just, lay back here and relax. Me and Natasha are going to go get some supplies and we'll take care of some of these wounds. Alright?"

Loki is staring up at him with wet and uncertain eyes, so nakedly fearful that it makes Steve's breath catch in his throat.

After a moment, Loki at last nods, and begins to do as he's told, lying back on the bed with noticeable difficulty and discomfort.

The lacerations along his back must be killing him, Steve thinks.

As if to confirm his fears, he sees a single tear slip free down Loki's left cheek, his breath hitching slightly as he settles back completely.

Natasha is watching him with an unreadable, flat expression, and Steve notices then that Loki hasn't once looked at her.

Reaching out, the captain pushes the god's sweat slicked hair back off his forehead, hoping to offer some comfort, little though it might be.

"You okay?" He asks, ignoring Natasha's gaze boring into him now.

"… Oh kay." Loki echoes, the word still sounding awkward on his tongue.

He nods then.

"I am oh kay." He says, and Steve can't help but smile a little.

"Alright. We'll be back in a few minutes then. Just stay here."

He gestures for Natasha to follow him then.

They won't be able to treat any of Loki's more severe wounds. But Steve has had plenty of experience with field dressings, and knows well enough how to set up an IV to get some fluids into the god. He thinks, for now, it should be alright. Until they can get Bruce back anyway.

He hopes so.

God, he hopes so.


	13. Chapter 13

The third time they put his brother down, Thor has to look away.

Please, he thinks desperately, please Loki, don't get up. Stay down. Do not let your pride do this.

But, of course, Loki does get up. Again. And again, they put him down with violence.

It is so much as it was when they were children, and Loki would refuse, refuse to yield on the training grounds, even when his face had been beaten to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp, and he could barely manage to stand. Always had his brother's pride been thus.

Only now there is nothing Thor can do. He is forbidden to interfere by Odin himself. Father says... he says it is a lesson Loki must now learn. That his brother, his little brother, must now understand his place. Understand that he is no longer a prince. That he no longer has the privilege of a prince, no longer has the power or protection.

That he no longer has anything.

Thor cannot bear it.

Tears blind his eyes, and he bites the inside of his cheek with force enough to taste copper over his tongue.

"Please Father," he begs again, and again Odin is a silent Sentinel at his side, watching as the group, a mix of palace guards and nobleman, beat Loki savagely.

Oh, gods, this is... this is not right. This is everything... everything he was brought up to rail against. He feels as if he is losing himself. As if everything he'd thought he'd known, everything he'd felt, was a lie. A vicious, horrible lie.

These people had once bowed to Loki. Had once bent their necks in acknowledgment of his rank and status. Had sought his approval and permission and his orders.

Thor tries uselessly to think not of how many of these same many had often spoken to his brother's back ugly and unkind words. How when Loki looked away, they would sneer and mock at him. How there had even been those bold enough to do so to Loki's face. Thor tries to think not of how his brother had never, truly had the deference and respect he himself had so easily won.

This then was their opportunity. This then was what so many of them had been waiting for, and Thor thinks he understands then the veracity of their eagerness. They had only needed someone to tell them 'yes' to their secret and oft blatant desires towards Loki.

And Loki, proud, strong, broken Loki, oh, how he refuses to yield to their demands, and oh how he suffers for it.

His face is a red mask for all the blood that pours from his nose and mouth and all the gaping cuts which split his white, white skin. His eyes almost swollen shut, and his nearly naked body a canvas of hideous and deep bruising.

He struggles to his hands and knees, arms shaking violently with weakness and pain.

They don't allow him this time to make it to his feet. A guard, and gods, Thor knows the man, knows his name even, steps forward and kicks Loki full in the face, sending him crashing back against the floor.

Thor hardly chokes back the anguished cry of rage and horror which races up his throat, clamping his jaw tight, his fists trembling with the need for action, for revenge, at his sides.

"Father, I beg you, s-stop this... stop it..."

"You will silence yourself boy." Odin says, voice cold and unyielding. "I have explained to you well already why this must be."

"He is my brother," Thor gasps, nearly sobs. "my little brother. I c-cannot... cannot..."

His voice is drowned out by a sudden eruption of laughter, and he turns his horrified gaze back to the scene.

One of the men has Loki by his hair now, pulling him back up off the ground, while another strips him bare of the one, ragged garment he'd worn to preserve his modesty.

"Look at it!" One of them cries, so much ugly pleasure in their voice. "Look at the pitiful thing. I always said it was scrawny for a man of the Aesir. Knowing it's a frost giant though... Norns, it's the most pathetic thing I've ever seen!"

"What's the matter Silvertongue?" Says another. "No fine words to weasel your way out now?"

"Why won't you just stay down? Where's that vaunted intelligence? You really are naught but a dumb, unthinking beast, aren't you?"

Loki begins then to struggle, his arms reaching blindly back, trying to find the hands that hold him, to push them away.

The sight is pitiful, and the crowd erupts into yet more laughter.

Thor can't watch this. He can't bear it.

He's going to stop it. He's going to...

"You dare not defy my order, boy." Odin says suddenly, as if knowing what he was thinking. "You do not interfere. You've no conception of the consequences to you or your mother or me if you try to protect him. You will bring this entire kingdom down on our heads, and then we all will be sacrificed."

"He is your SON!" Thor cries, unaccepting.

"HE IS NOT MY SON!" Odin bellows back, voice laced with power, and Thor, despite himself, shrinks back from it. Father is furious, glaring at him now and breathing heavily. A long moment stretches, and then he says, his voice again calm...

"Loki gave forfeit to his place in this family when he brought war to Midgard. He deserves not that position, not that regard. My youngest boy is dead now. He is done. He is lost. What remains in his place is a shadowed monster. Nothing more. The sooner you accept that as truth Thor, the sooner you may find peace."

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

But Thor had never been able to accept that.

Never.

And he now knows that perhaps Odin, despite his claims and actions, had never accepted it either. Little though that realization does to quell Thor's still at times blinding, suffocating rage at Father for allowing the things that were done to Loki. For even encouraging them.

And Loki, his brilliant, sensitive, bright brother, oh... for so long, for years, he had held onto the pride to which Thor had been a witness that day. Refusing for all that time to yield, to give into the demands and punishments of all those others.

Loki had comported himself, even when he'd been stripped naked and beaten to within an inch of his life, as the Prince he had been raised as. He'd dismissed the orders that he behave like an animal, had refused to ask or beg mercy, had denied them the satisfaction of seeing him crawl on his knees and kiss their dirty toes. Loki had refused. For so, so long. And it mattered not that they then beat him only more savagely. It mattered not that they took away what little sustenance he'd been allowed, denied him water, denied him rest, denied him clothes and decency and comfort of any kind.

Loki had been so strong, so brave, little matter what others said of his courage, and there were times when Thor had found himself standing in awe of his brother, even as he'd wept and agonized over the way he'd only made his suffering keener.

… And then, one day, it had changed.

Loki had broken.

Thor had seen him, falling in compliance, even hurrying to do as he'd been told, fretful, panicked to please.

He hadn't understood it. Hadn't understood what had occurred. What had driven Loki to such fear, such submissiveness, when before he had been so defiant, so strong against their cruelties and tortures.

Not until he and the Captain had gone to retrieve his brother from the cells, and Thor had seen... he'd seen what those men had been doing to Loki. What they had been in the process of doing...

And he'd understood then. He'd understood only too well.

His sight is suddenly clouded then, and he realizes a moment later he is crying.

He wipes clumsily at his eyes with the heels of his palms, as if he were a small child.

He feels like a child. Feels as helpless, as useless, as he looks down at the motionless form of his brother.

Loki is sleeping now.

The Captain had finally needed to excuse himself to rest. A responsibility Thor had been only too glad to relieve him of. He'd expressed his gratitude to Steve as well as he could, for everything he'd done for his brother, though Thor knew it could never be enough to make his comrade understand the depth of it. Of exactly what he'd done for Loki, and in turn for him.

He'd thanked as well the Lady Natasha. He knew for her it was more difficult still, to lend her aid to his brother, for her loyalty to Clint Barton was powerful indeed, and yet still she had, and for that Thor was ever grateful.

Looking at Loki now, Thor feels a crushing sadness in his heart.

He knows his friends here on Midgard hate his brother. Perhaps not Steve. And Tony seems at the least mildly more accepting. But the others show little, true sympathy, and Thor can hardly blame them.

Loki, after all, had wronged them all, and deeply.

Only Thor cannot help now thinking of Loki as the brother he had always known. The younger sibling he had grown up with, and wishing with almost overwhelming desperation that his comrades could have known that boy. That sweet, bright, intelligent boy that Loki had once been.

The one that, seeing him now, seeing his brother so broken and small and helpless, Thor cannot help seeing glimpses of still.

Loki had oft been as this when a child. Something Mother had spoken with the Captain about, and which she hadn't in the least exaggerated.

His brother had so constantly been ill as a boy. Had been so frail and weak, just as he seemed now.

And just as Thor now sits by his bedside, fretting and agonized over Loki's well being, he had done so as a child, worrying days that his brother would not make it. That he would die.

Too often that concern had held weight. Had been too possible.

Eventually, of course, Loki had grown out of his frailty, though he'd always remained physically weak for a man of the Aesir. Something which, in the bloom of their manhood, Thor had teased and mocked Loki mercilessly for.

Thor wishes now with passion he had not done that.

Wishes he had not done so many things...

He knows he's failed his brother. Knows it well as he's ever known anything.

Sometimes, Thor thinks, he hates himself for it. For allowing this to happen to Loki, when he had been meant to protect his brother.

And curse him for ever believing Loki weak, when all the while it had been him. Loki... Loki would never have stood by and let... let others do to Thor what Thor had let happen to him.

Oh, Norns, he remembers all the times, so many times, when Loki had protected him, shielded him, both from punishments and enemies in battle.

So many times Loki had taken the blame for something gone wrong, when in truth it had been Thor's doing and Thor's fault alone. Times when Loki had let himself be whipped, or confined for weeks, months at a time within the palace walls, sparing Thor completely.

Thor had eased his own conscience by telling himself his brother was used to such things. That Loki found himself immersed in such mischief so constantly, that another punishment, another whipping, another scolding, another confinement, was as nothing to him.

Thor had only recently begun to realize he deceived himself more thoroughly than Loki had ever managed to do.

And how many times had his brother taken blows for him in battle? How many times had he pushed Thor aside, out of harms way, and taken the damage unto himself?

How many times had Loki allowed himself to be captured in Thor's place, offered himself up as hostage in order to spare him the same? How many times had Loki come back to him, tortured and haunted by the things done to him? Which Loki had willingly endured for his sake alone?

Loki had been so incredibly loyal to him, once.

And so why Thor had trusted him explicitly. Because Loki had always given him every reason to.

And he had re-payed his brother's loyalty with neglect and ignorance.

He's shaken from his thoughts by a sudden, low noise, and casting his gaze back down, he sees his brother beginning to shift, his lids fluttering for long seconds before his eyes finally open, staring blearily at the ceiling above them.

He lays there a moment, unmoving, chest rising and falling in a shallow, uneven pattern.

The Captain and Natasha had done what they could to mend and wrap Loki's wounds. The group of them had decided that it was best for all involved to keep Bruce at a distance from his brother, at least for now.

Thor had been doubtful when they'd gone to push a sort of steel needle, attached to a liquid filled bag into the vein between the joint of his brother's upper and forearm, but Steve had explained to him it was what they called an "IV drip", used for persons suffering from extreme dehydration.

Thor had understood, but had warned them that no ordinary Midgardian steel would be capable of piercing Loki's skin, which had proven true. They'd snapped several of their needles, trying to insert the thing, until the Captain had recalled a set of the things made from a metal called "adamantium", supposedly the strongest steel in this Realm.

The needle had then gone in, and Thor, strangely, had felt an awful discomfort at seeing the mortals able to slice into his brother's body with such ease.

It had only served to again remind him of how truly vulnerable Loki was now. That should his companions wish to bring him harm... in his current state, there would be little Loki could do to defend himself.

"Loki," he starts then, softly.

His brother starts, violently, pulling over the IV stand in the same instant, only causing his panic to pitch higher as he becomes aware of the tube feeding into his arm.

He flails, beginning to tear at the thing viciously, an agonized cry bursting from his throat, eyes wide and too bright.

Thor feels his heart crash down into the pit of his stomach at the sight, reaching out in his own panic, grasping hold his brother's frenzied wrists and holding them still.

"Loki!" He starts urgently. "Brother, calm yourself! Calm yourself brother, please!"

Loki doesn't seem to be hearing him, still struggling uselessly against Thor's hold.

His brother is just too weak still to manage anything against Thor's power, and it is heartbreakingly easy for the elder god to hold him in place.

"Loki, please, you know me brother!" Thor tries again, staring Loki in the face. "You know me. Thor. You know me."

For long, horrifying seconds, Thor sees no recognition for him in his brother's eyes, Loki staring back at him with such utter confusion and lost fear.

It is, for the moments it lasts, one of the most terrifying experiences of Thor's long life.

And then, in an instant, recognition at last lights in Loki's eyes, and he looks back at Thor with such startled, overwhelming relief.

He begins then to cry, pressing his face against Thor's shoulder, trembling uncontrollably through his wasted frame.

Thor cannot help it then either, his own eyes filling with tears, thick and blinding. He feels he may suffocate with the intensity of the emotion as he lets go of Loki's wrists, instead wrapping his arms round his brother's frail body and pulling him close.

Loki clings back to him, and Thor presses his lips to the crown of his head.

"Thor..." His brother sobs desperately. "Thor..."

"It's alright Loki." Thor tells him, trying vainly to keep his voice steady and strong. "It's alright. I'm here. I'm right here."

Oh, gods, he thinks, he cannot bear this. He cannot bear to see his brother, to see brave, strong, proud Loki like this. To see him so broken, so wrecked...

There is something more wrong about it than he will ever find the words to express.

And in that moment, it is as if his brother reads his thoughts, his skeletal hands grasping harder, twisting in the material of Thor's tunic as he gasps out...

"Forgive me. F-forgive me, I sh-sh-shame mm... mys-self. I shame m-myself."

Thor hardly manages to choke down his own sob, shaking his head determinedly.

"No Loki. Oh no, no my brother. No."

Thor squeezes his arms more tightly round Loki then, holding him against his chest, just holding him, until he feels his brother begin at last to calm, his brittle weeping dying away, and he sits breathing, deep and unconscious.

Even still, Thor does not let him go.

/

Loki startles awake, uncertain at first of what it is that rouses him, his mind a fog of confusion and, as it has been for long as he can readily recall now, dread.

Only he knows something is wrong, his frame instantly tensing with it, wound tight and near trembling.

It's a moment later when he discovers why.

Thor is gone.

His brother had... he'd been there, when Loki had last had consciousness. He'd been holding onto him, holding him against his chest and Loki had... he'd been safe. He'd felt safe, finally. He'd felt as if... as if...

The cold hits him then, cool air upon his bare legs and torso, and he realizes the cover which had been thrown over him is gone.

He flinches back a second afterward at the sound of a hard, angry voice.

"What's up Loki?" It says, and turning towards it, Loki feels his heart stutter painfully in his chest, the vague dread of his waking turning to something definite and sharp.

Clint Barton stares back at him, arms crossed over his chest, a half-smirk curling the corners of his lips up.

For a moment, Loki feels his head spin with panic, and he turns away, eyes searching frantically over the small, sterile space of the room, looking for...

"Lookin' for your big bro, Loki?" Barton says in that same, flat tone. "Or maybe Cap, since he seems to be your best friend these days, huh?"

Loki's mouth feels dry, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, heart beating harder against his ribs.

He can't bring himself to look back to the man, his gaze instead falling to his lap, and he thinks for an instant how pitiful he must look.

His legs are pale and naked, and sickeningly thin. There's no strength there. Not anymore. Not that there had ever been much. Only now the limbs look like a child's. Like a weak child's...

He folds his hands together then, grasping them tight to keep them from shaking.

He's frightened, and he hates himself only worse for it.

Barton is only a man. Only a mortal man. But Loki knows he has no power any more. No ability to defend himself...

And he knows too well how this man hates him.

"What the matter?" Barton goes on then, tone turning flippant, amused. A tone Loki is all too familiar with. "Cat got your tongue?" The man laughs lowly. "Well, listen bro, I'm afraid you're not gonna find Thor or Cap. Team had to take off on a mission. Apparently Dr. Doom's causing havoc again. Not that you'd know who that is. You haven't been back here in a while, have you?"

Loki doesn't answer, keeping his eyes fixed down and his hands gripping one another painfully tight.

"Well, anyhow, we couldn't just leave you here all alone. So I offered to stick around. You know, keep watch and shit. Since Doom's a pretty heavy hitter, you know he's a magic user, just like you, or, like you used to be, anyway, they needed all the big guns on this one. That means Thor and Cap and Tony. So I offered to stay, and wouldn't you know, they didn't really have much choice but to let me, since Nat's out on another mission for SHIELD."

Loki feels a numbness beginning to work into his extremities, and without realizing it, he's suddenly sunk down lower on the bedding, shrinking away.

Barton is here to hurt him. He knows that already. Is resigned to it. Still, the fear of not knowing what the man will do sends a wave of nausea coursing through his insides, a faintness which threatens to rob him of consciousness.

Suddenly then, Barton is leaning forward, his hands planted flat on the bed, the thing sinking slightly with his added weight.

"It's weird, ya know," he continues on, easy, almost friendly sounding. "you're still all super strong, isn't that right? You could probably kill me pretty easy. 'Cept I can't but notice you haven't really looked at me even once since I started talking to you. Like you're scared. Well, you are scared, aren't you? I know what fear looks like. Even smells like, and man, Loki, it's like it's coming off of you in waves."

Loki sees Barton lift his hand from his periphery, and he can't help it as he flinches back, thinking the man is about to strike him. It only occurs to him afterward how absurd it is, when he hears Barton laughing.

"Man, they really got you whipped, don't they?" He says, amusement thick in his voice now. "I'd break my hand on that stupid face of yours if I hit it."

Loki again looks away, humiliation burning his cheeks viciously.

"... Wh-what do you want?" He dares to ask, his voice dry and weak.

"Oh, it speaks!" Barton again laughs, straightening up and folding his arms back over his chest. "'Cept I think you probably know what I want."

Loki closes his eyes, swallowing thickly.

"It's interesting, ya know." The man goes on. "I could probably hurt you. I can be pretty creative when it comes to that sort of stuff..."

Loki feels his heart again stutter, a fresh surge of terror washing through him, and he struggles to hold himself still then.

"I've gotta a better idea though, I think." Barton continues, seemingly oblivious. "It'll be interesting to see just how beat down they made you up there in Asgard. I mean, I remember you were real proud, last time. Isn't that right? I remember trying to get you to lay down, to rest, give yourself a chance to recover, since you were all kinds of fucked up when you came through that portal. You remember that? But you wouldn't do it. You kept saying you couldn't, and just kept going, even though you could barely stand. Remember?"

"... You intend to humiliate me." Loki whispers, the backs of his eyes stinging as he realizes it.

Barton claps his hands together then, the suddenness of the noise again causing Loki to jump.

"Very good." He starts. "So they didn't manage to beat all your brains out, I guess."

A long moment passes which seems to stretch to eternity then, Loki's frame tensing only worse as he waits for the inevitable.

"Alright. So," Barton says finally. "up. Get up. Follow me."

He sees the man move around the foot of the bed, starting towards the rooms door, and Loki knows he has to follow. Knows he doesn't have a choice. Choice is something he hasn't had for a long, long time.

Only he finds himself paralyzed, unable to move, his mind screaming at him to go, even as his limbs refuse it.

He wishes Thor were here. Or Steve. He wishes...

"Oh, we're not gonna do this, are we?" He hears Barton say, and though his words are easy, there's plain warning in his tone. "Come on piglet. Don't make me drag you outta here myself."

That's all it seems to take to spur Loki's body into action.

He feels dizzy and weak, his limbs shaking uncontrollably as he struggles to push himself from the bed and to the floor.

Mortification rushes through him then as his knees give out and he falls, clumsy and stupid to the ground.

He hears Barton sigh, as if annoyed and nothing more. But a moment later, the man's heavy boots come into Loki's view, and then Barton's rough hands are on him, grabbing him underneath his arms and hauling him up.

"Jesus, you're even more pathetic than I realized." He says.

Loki wants desperately to push him away. To run... to... But no, no, he can't do that. He knows better. He knows better than to fight now. Knows it will only make things worse.

"Move it." Barton tells him, getting behind him and shoving him forward.

Loki again nearly loses his balance, but somehow manages to stay upright. It's awful, trying to keep his legs under him as he wobbles forward, feeling like a newborn colt.

Barton holds him by the arm still, his hand what Loki can tell would be bruisingly tight, if the mortal had the strength to inflict such on him.

Loki knows well enough what that looks and feels like.

He lets Barton lead him without daring to protest, his heart hammering harder and harder in his chest as he's taken out of what Steve had called the laboratory and down a cold, metal corridor, harsh, bright lights flickering overhead, until they reach the end of it, and Barton directs him into yet another room.

Immediately, Loki notices the dampness of the air, and on the floor.

At the far end of the space, there are three, large stalls, separated by what to Loki looks like stone walls. Affixed to the backing of each stall is some sort of metal protrusion, like a spout, and it's from these that Loki guesses the condensation in the room is coming from. There is water dripping in small rivulets from each. Some sort of plumbing system, he guesses.

Along the wall to their left, there is some curled up contraption, like a thick bodied snake, pressed plat and elevated.

Loki is given only a moment to contemplate it though, as again Barton shoves him from behind, towards the stalls.

"Get in there." The man tells him, and Loki doesn't argue, doing as he's told, feeling the tips of his fingers go numb again with renewed anxiety.

For a long, few moments, nothing happens, and Loki stands there with his back to Barton. Unthinkingly, he wraps his arms round himself. He knows Barton is watching him, likely deciding now what he should do, and Loki tries desperately to cast his mind to some place else.

It's little use though, and when Barton again speaks, Loki barely manages to swallow down his startled gasp.

"Alright, get your shorts off." He says.

A fresh surge of panic quickly takes hold Loki then, as his mind confuses at the word "shorts". He doesn't know what that is, and he finds himself abruptly too frightened to ask. Instead he turns, slowly, barely able to keep his gaze on the mortal man.

Barton rolls his eyes as he seems to realize what the trouble is.

"Your underwear." He snaps, irritated. "Your undergarments. Whatever the fuck you call them up in fancy pants land. Get 'em off. Get naked."

Loki understand then, and despite himself, despite having gone through so much the same, so many times, he cannot help the immediate shame which heats his face and forces his eyes back to the ground.

He feels sick, and shakier than before, his legs trembling and threatening to crumple.

"Let's GO Loki!" Barton's voice raises abruptly, and Loki scrambles then to comply.

He was a fool, he thinks as he pushes the undergarment down past his hips, biting the inside of his cheek hard to distract from the humiliation he feels. A fool to think that coming here to Midgard would in any, true way free him from his sentence. More fool to fancy for even a moment that he ever deserved such a thing.

He's barely slipped the flimsy garment over his ankles and past his feet when Barton moves towards the snake-like contraption along the adjacent wall, beginning to unravel it.

Loki watches him with trepidation, crossing his arms uselessly over himself in some pitiful attempt to preserve modesty.

Returning a few moments later with the snake, Barton grins at him, an ugly sort of expression.

"So this is what we're gonna start out with." He begins. "This thing here is called a fire hose. You probably don't know what that is, so I'll tell you. It's basically a high pressure water gun. It shoots water at a really high volume and pressure. In other words, it'll knock even one of you fuckers on your ass pretty easy, I'm thinking. Especially you, seeing as you're looking like some holocaust victim."

Barton's eye's rove over him then, plain with disgust, and Loki again feels a fresh surge of embarrassment, turning away.

"Alright. Here we go." The man goes on after a short few seconds, voice casual, dismissive even.

That's all the warning Loki gets before Barton turns some sort of lever on the snake's head, and an instant later, a rush of water comes bursting forth out of it, slamming into Loki with the force of a battering ram.

It crushes him backwards against the wall, and Loki can only gasp with the strength of the blast, the water pummeling his flesh like the most solid of hammers. It hurts. It hurts viciously, and Loki tries lifting his arms to shield himself against it, only his limbs are knocked away like twigs, and it's hardly a moment before it becomes too much, and he's thrown to the ground.

It does nothing to persuade Barton, only seeming to coax him further as he steps closer, aiming the blast of water more directly.

Loki again gasps, the pain worsening with each, passing moment.

He curls his arms over himself in one last attempt to defend against the spray, but it does little, seeming only to turn his own limbs against him, drubbing them against his head.

He can only squeeze his eyes shut and pray for it to end.

He wants Thor, he thinks pitifully.

He wants his brother. His big brother...


	14. Chapter 14

"Thor..." Steve calls breathlessly, struggling to keep pace with the god. "Thor, wait, please!"

Steve feels like his heart is in his throat, panic threatening to overwhelm him as he chases after his friend and teammate.

Fear for what Thor will do... fear for what he and Thor will find.

They'd been near to the end of battling a horde of Doom bots, just beginning to make some leeway in the fight, when JARVIS had patched through urgently to Tony and the rest of them, telling them that Clint was "severely mistreating" Loki. Those had been the AI's exact words.

Thor's reaction had been immediate, a deafening boom of thunder crashing over their heads, even as he'd growled out with his own voice, nearly as loud, before dispatching with speed a half-dozen robots in half as many seconds, and taking off towards the tower.

Steve had felt dizzy with worry.

Thor hadn't wanted to leave Loki alone with Clint. He'd been adamant about it, asking exhaustively if there were some other option, if there was any way they could do without his assistance in handling Doom.

It had been Steve's own call to tell him no. They all knew how dangerous Doom was. Likely their most dangerous and consistent enemy. They couldn't afford to lose Thor when engaging the madman

Thor had understood, though he'd remained distracted and agitated throughout.

The guilt Steve now feels is awful. So too is the betrayal. He'd made the wrong call. He'd trusted Clint. Trusted his word when he said he wouldn't do anything to hurt Loki. That he would just be making sure nothing happened, nothing went wrong.

Tony had understood without needing to be told that they couldn't just let Thor go back to the tower on his own. That a disaster was coming, and he'd mercifully flown down and taken hold of Steve, flying with him after the god, dropping him off on the roof before returning to Bruce to clean up the rest of the battle with Doom.

Steve had asked JARVIS to elaborate on what he meant, when he'd said Clint was mistreating Loki, a sickening dread blooming in the pit of his stomach as an endless parade of worst case scenario's unraveled in his mind.

"I regret to inform," JARVIS had begun, his voice oddly sincere in it's grief. "that Agent Barton has removed Mr. Laufeyson from his room, forced him to strip naked and has, for a dangerously prolonged period, attacked him with a high pressured water hose in the shower stalls adjoined to Sir's labs. He now has Mr. Laufeyson on his hands and knees within the outer corridor, still bare, and is forcing him to wash the floors with a scrubbing brush and water, lambasting him with verbal assaults and threatening violence should Mr. Laufeyson not do an adequate job. I am sorry to say that Mr. Laufeyson's vital statistics are edging uncomfortably close to a critical state. I believe he may be in shock, and is currently experiencing a violent panic attack. I have tried imploring Agent Barton to cease this assault, but he continues to ignore me. I would suggest an immediacy of action on the part of all of you."

Thor had heard that. Had heard all of it, and then Steve and Tony had lost communication with him, when the god had torn the com from his ear and crushed it.

Now Steve finds himself running after him, calling desperately for him to wait.

"Thor, please, don't... don't hurt Clint. Don't hurt him."

"He has betrayed my trust!" Thor roars, voice shaking the walls, his stride refusing to slow. "He has risen arms against my kin! I will make him regret his every action this day!"

"Thor, Jesus, wait! Don't you see," Steve pants, still trying to keep up. "if you do anything to Clint, if you physically attack him, we... we won't be able to help Loki anymore."

That seems to do the trick, as finally, Thor pulls up short, stopping and turning, glaring at Steve.

Steve breathes out shakily, reminded in that instant just how dangerous Thor can actually be. It's sometimes easy to forget, with how generally friendly and kind the giant man is. But there is violence in him now, and overwhelming rage.

Steve can't even begin to blame him. His panic starting now to give way, his own anger is beginning to take its place.

"Listen," he says, shaking his head. "I know you're angry. I'm angry too. I'm furious. And Clint is going to pay for this. You have my word. We'll make him pay."

"Aye," Thor says, voice hard and short. "though I need not your approval to do so."

Steve puts his hands up, placating.

"I know. But just listen to me for a second man. You have my word. As leader, starting now, I'm taking Clint off the team. He won't be allowed to operate with us any more, and won't be allowed to continue living here. I say that on my honor. But if you go in there and you physically attack him, then you're going to get SHIELD involved, and they're going to want to take your brother into custody, and I can't control what happens then. Okay? For Loki's sake, please, don't hurt Clint."

Thor's face is a mask of disgust and frustration, unyielding and enraged.

He glares hard at Steve for long seconds, and it is a struggle for the Captain not to look away.

But at last the god gives a single, curt nod, before turning and striding with speed again towards the corridor, Steve running once more to catch up.

Taking the elevator down is almost torturous in it's slowness, and when finally they reach the lab level, and begin out of the lift, Steve feels his heart stammer to nearly a halt in his chest, his eyes wide and stricken with the sight before them.

Even with JARVIS' warnings, it does nothing to prepare him for the awfulness of it.

Clint hasn't heard them, Tony's elevators being near silent in their operation, and he continues to stand there with his back to them, standing over Loki, who, as JARVIS had described, is down on his hands and knees, naked, scrubbing at the floor with a flimsy brush.

Several yards away, Steve can still see Loki's entire frame trembling viciously, his hands visibly shaking as he struggles to hold onto the brush and do as he's been told. And even with the rich blue of his skin, Steve can easily make out the welts all along him, purplish in color, from where the pressure of the water had blasted him. He's still soaked, his short hair clinging in wet curls against his head, and Steve can guess that some of the young god's tremors must be coming from being made to remain wet for so long. Steve feels a sudden fear then that Loki may somehow get sick from it, given his weakened state.

"You missed a spot, fucker." Clint says suddenly, and Loki starts at the sound of his voice, clearly terrified. "Scrub harder or I swear, I'll bash your head in. Probably be doing you a favor, huh?"

It's all Thor can take, as an instant later, he's bellowing out his rage, causing Clint to jump in shock, spinning round with wide eyes.

Loki only continues to scrub, as if hasn't realized anything different at all.

"Thor, remember what I said!" Steve snaps out as the thunder god advances forward towards Clint.

Clint looks for a moment absolutely paralyzed with fear, standing there with his eyes like saucers and his mouth hung agape.

He begins then to stumble backwards as Thor nears him, throwing his hands up as if to defend himself, but Thor merely growls at him before shouldering him aside. The contact is enough still to send Clint sprawling to the ground in a heap, and Steve feels an almost overwhelming relief as Thor continues past him and towards Loki.

Loki continues scrubbing at the floor, even when Thor crouches down at his side, lying a gentle hand on his shoulder and beginning to speak softly to him.

The contrast between the violence and rage Steve had seen in the elder god just moments before and the gentility of him now is almost shocking.

"Loki," Thor is saying. "brother, it's alright. You're alright now."

Loki shakes his head, failing to cease his action.

"I n-need to finish." He chokes out, voice barely audible. "I need, he... he s-says I need to finish. To... to do a good job. I..."

Steve feels sick then, as he realizes what Loki is saying.

As he realizes the reason Loki hadn't reacted at all when he and Thor had come off the elevator, or when the commotion had broken out.

He doesn't even realize... doesn't understand that it's okay now, that he doesn't have to listen to Clint. Doesn't have to do what he's been told to do.

Steve feels his eyes sting with threatening tears as the full depth of Loki's trauma hits him, and he realizes perhaps for the first time just how far they all have to go before the god even starts to get better, if he even ever can.

"Loki, no." Thor tells him, reaching down and grasping gentle hold of his brother's wrist, stilling his movements. "Stop."

Loki does, finally looking up at Thor, and there is such plain confusion in his eyes that for a moment, Steve has to look away.

"You do not have to that." Thor tells him again.

Loki looks abruptly frightened then, again shaking his head.

"But..." he starts.

"Loki, it's alright." Thor tells him once more, looking him directly in the eyes, before wrapping one of his powerful arms round his brother's shoulders and pulling him against his side.

That seems at last to quiet Loki down, to bring him to the present.

He stares at Thor a long moment more, before finally dropping the brush and reaching up, wrapping his own arms round Thor's shoulders, clinging to him.

Steve is at Clint's side now, helping him to sit up, making sure he isn't injured, though if he's being honest with himself, he isn't at the moment feeling any sense of charity towards his teammate.

"Get up Clint." He says once he's satisfied the other man is okay. "We're gonna go have a talk now."

Clint has his eyes locked on Thor and Loki, staring with naked disdain at the scene.

"Now Clint." Steve snaps, losing what little patience he has left.

"Yeah, whatever." Clint shakes his head, finally pushing himself to his feet. "I know I'm off the team. Your mistake is in thinking I give a shit. But when this little arrangement you've got going comes back to bite you in the ass, don't come crawling to me for help." He gestures towards Loki. "I was only giving that piece of shit what he deserves."

Thor turns, staring back at Clint with a plain threat.

"If you ever come near my brother again, Clint Barton, I will end your life." He says flatly.

"Fuck you Thor." Clint snaps, unrepentant. "And fuck your brother. You think I give a rat's ass?"

"You don't feel anything?" Steve starts, incredulous, disbelieving of just how cold Clint is being. He'd known his teammate had his issues with Loki, but he'd never thought he could be so blatantly cruel. "You think this is okay? That this is good? Look at him Clint. Look at him and tell me you think you just did the right thing. He is broken. He's suffered more than you can probably ever conceive, and guess what, you just added to that. And you're going to stand there and act proud of it?"

"Yes." Clint says flatly. "Hell yes. He got what he deserved. He killed people Cap. He took over my mind and made me kill people. But I guess that doesn't mean shit to any of you."

"It isn't that it doesn't mean shit, Clint." Steve growls. "It's that Loki's paid for what he did a hundred damn times over, and two wrongs don't make a right. Nobody should ever have to go through what he has. You won't even give him a chance. He isn't what you think Clint. He isn't who you think he is."

"Yeah, right. Okay. I can see Loki's worked his powers of manipulation on you too Cap. Did you forget this fucker took over my mind?! Dude, I can't believe how fucking stupid you are!"

"That's enough Clint." Steve's had it. "It's your own ignorance that's really biting you on the ass. You're right, you're off the team. And I need you to come with me right now to clear out your belongings. I want you gone by this evening."

Clint scoffs, finally moving, blowing past Steve, bumping into his shoulder.

"Whatever." He says. "Don't even bother. I'm outta here now."

Steve watches his former teammate a moment as he heads towards the elevators, before turning back towards Thor and Loki.

Thor still has his brother in his arms, his cape now wrapped round Loki's shoulders, speaking softly to him as Loki continues to cling back, his face buried now against Thor's chest.

"Is he alright?" Steve asks, knowing it's a stupid question. Of course Loki isn't alright.

But Thor just nods.

"Aye. I have him now."

"I've gotta make sure Clint actually goes..." Steve starts, hesitating.

"It is well, Captain. Go. I will tend to my brother."

Steve nods, still hesitating.

He hates to leave them, to leave Loki, when he feels like this whole, horrible thing is his fault.

"You should probably bring him to the infirmary. We need to make sure he's actually alright."

Again, Thor nods.

"Aye. I will. Worry not, my friend. Attend to your duty."

Steve nods one last time, still unsure, but knowing he has to see to Clint.

Finally, he turns, listening as Thor continues to speak quietly to his brother. He can hear Loki murmuring something back, but his voice is too soft for Steve to make out the words.

It isn't his business anyway, he thinks.

He's only just now starting to realize that they aren't really equipped for this, him and his team. That Loki's condition, mentally and physically, needs to be looked after by a real doctor. By someone who won't turn away from him just because of who and what he is.

He remembers suddenly their connections with Charles Xavier and his team, the X-Men. Mutants, who knew and faced their own immense issues with prejudice and bigotry in the world. They had a doctor, a medical doctor, named Henry McCoy, if Steve was remembering correctly. And Mr. Xavier himself was a certified psychiatrist, working daily with young people who'd experienced some sort of mental and emotional trauma. The both of them could help Loki, Steve is willing to bet.

All this he has on his mind then, as he steps onto the elevator. If he could get those guys on the line, maybe he could actually do something for Loki.

Something real.

After what he'd let happen to him today, Steve thinks, it's the very least he can do.


	15. Chapter 15

Humiliation is a familiar and deep set feeling within him.

He can't look at Thor. Or Steve.

They must think him so pathetic, and their thoughts of him would be only just. He is pathetic. To be so utterly cowed, so thoroughly ordered by a mortal man...

In some, obscure place in his mind, Loki knows he could easily have overpowered Clint Barton. Could have tossed him aside easily as he might a child. That the mortal had no, true power over him...

Only, no, that isn't true.

Barton had absolute power over him. As did every human being within this realm. It mattered naught Loki's physical superiority over them. Odin All-Father had declared him their slave. It was a simple transfer of ownership, from the populace of the gods, to that of man.

And Loki well knew the consequences should he even entertain ideas of rebellion.

He would be taken back to Asgard, and as he now was, trapped in this hated, hideous form... they would tear him limb from limb. Make sport of him long as they could, before doing away with him completely.

That with certainty had contributed to Loki's inability to defend himself against Barton, he thinks.

Though the true source of his cowardice is so much more dishonorable.

He'd been scared. Scared of Barton. Truly terrified in a way that couldn't be overcome. Not by the likes of him.

It mattered nothing how much Loki told himself Barton could not, truly hurt him. Mattered naught the logic he tried to force himself to see.

It had been too much... too familiar...

Thoughts of rebellion and pride, courage and strength... Loki had once fancied himself possessed of such qualities. Fool that he was, he'd held to such beliefs in the face of others power over him, and for it, he'd paid the price, over and over, relentlessly.

He should have... should have learned his lesson from his time in the void... and when he'd come to be within the clutches of the Mad Titan. Oh, the more fool he was, thinking himself capable of withstanding such a being's power.

Thanos had laughed at his pitiful attempts, at his childish and flailing efforts to resist him.

And Loki, as testament to his foolery, had thought himself actually successful for a time.

He had been, after all, a warrior of Asgard. The Realm Eternal. A god, a son of Odin, son of Frigga, brother of Thor...

That was what he had told himself. Those were the claims he took stake in through the tortures the Mad Titan doled out, that he clung to in his desperate and frantic attempts to hold on.

And for a time, he had worked.

Those days when any anger he'd had left towards his once family had wasted away to nothing, and he'd sobbed to himself like a child in the dark, when he'd at last been left alone, weeping broken and ragged and wishing with all his might that they would come and rescue him.

"Papa..." he had begged. "Papa, Mama, Thor, please... please help me... help me..."

But they hadn't...

Nobody had. Just as Thanos had promised him.

And when the Titan could see in Loki that all his hope was at last lost, it was then Thanos had shown

him his true power, and Loki had broken.

Broken like small sticks, pathetic and weak, giving his sworn oath then to do the Titans will. And Thanos had smiled at him, and patted him on the head like a good boy, and Loki could only feel relief, could only feel so much relief that he wouldn't be hurt anymore. That he wouldn't be...

But of course, that too had been a lie.

Thanos had continued to torture him, if only to remind Loki of what the consequences would be, should he give thought to the idea of rebellion.

Loki hadn't.

He wouldn't be so foolish again.

Only... trapped within his obedience Loki had harbored such vicious hatred for the Titan, and too for the family that had failed to answer his pleas.

It had been the Tesseract Thanos was after, and, Loki had thought, when at last sent away from that place between the Nine, he could succeed in his revenge through failure.

And that hadn't been so very difficult. Failure. Loki knew well how to do that.

He'd been so sure of himself too. Certain in his plan.

He would fail. He would draw Thor to him by revealing himself, he would fail, and his once brother would take him back to Asgard, where he would with swift and merciless retribution be executed for his treasonous and dishonorable acts.

That Loki had counted on... that Loki had longed for. Death would be a kindness to him then. Freedom at last from the agony of his own aloneness and the torture of his mind.

But that was not what had happened.

Loki had underestimated the cruelty of Odin, and for that blunder, he would never forgive himself.

His once father had for him alone reinstated the condition of slavery, and to that, Loki had been subjected.

His anger had sustained him for a while. Anger at himself, for his own stupidity of assumption and childish longings for love. His own moronic blindness in that longing. Anger at Odin, for everything. Anger at Thor for bringing him to such a fate...

Only towards Mother had he felt no such violent disdain. Only towards her had he continued to look and feel simple love and his own, burning shame for how grossly he knew he had disappointed her.

For a while, anyway, that anger had sustained him, and he'd allowed himself to forget the futility of rebellion for him.

In the end, that had been only to his greater detriment. For finally when, as inevitably he knew it would, the Aesir had broken him with their cruelty, his humiliation had been all the greater, his shame a thousandfold worse.

They'd seen plain how empty his bravado was, how false his courage.

So many times before then he had wanted simply to fall at their feet and entreat their mercy, their kindness, but stubborn pride had kept him from it, and fear. To show them how truly weak he was...

So many times, when left alone at night, a single cell for a single slave, he had wept himself to exhaustion, until at last, blessedly, sleep had come upon him and made him dead to his existence.

But his pride had been thin as paper, torn thinner and thinner each passing day of his enslavement, until, at last, his false face had fallen away, and they'd seen him the broken child he was, and he no longer could keep his tears to his few private moments, but instead sobbed openly before them all, their harsh laughter only greater testament to the pitiful nothing he was.

No, Loki thinks, as he bites down on the ridge of his hand, his body trembling viciously, refusing to calm, he is done with rebellion. He is done with a pride he never, truly had.

For no creature as worthless as he could ever have true pride. Could never find anything in himself to be proud of.

"Brother..." Thor starts, his heavy and strong hand upon Loki's shoulder, and Loki cannot help the way he flinches back at the contact. Cannot help the sharp gasp which slips past his clenched teeth.

Thor's hand quickly falls away.

"I'm sorry." He says. "Did I hurt you?"

Loki just barely manages to shake his head no, his teeth sinking harder into his hand, to the point now of pain.

And then there is the Captain's soft voice, his hand coming into Loki's view and taking gentle hold of his wrist.

"Loki, no." He says kindly, and Loki can't understand it. Can't understand how the mortal can touch him so easily without recoiling in horror. "You're hurting yourself." He goes on, and when he gives Loki's wrist a tug, Loki allows his hand to be pulled from his mouth.

He's bitten through his own skin, he registers vaguely, and his stomach churns sickeningly as he sees the purple blood slipping down his palm, over his wrist.

"Thor, can you... there's some bandages in that drawer behind you, and some rubbing alcohol." Steve goes on, voice thick with worry.

"Of course." Thor says, and Loki feels his face crumple.

"I'm sorry." He blurts, voice quivering as the rest of him. "I'm sorry."

"No, Loki..." Steve says, and he's holding both of Loki's hands now, squeezing them softly. "you didn't do anything wrong. Alright? I just don't want you getting any more hurt."

"I'm sorry." Loki says again, because he doesn't know what else to say, doesn't understand anymore what the Captain means.

"It's alright." Steve says.

Thor is back then with the bandages and the liquid that stings like fire when Steve presses a cloth soaked with it over Loki's broken skin.

He does his best to bite back the hiss which wants to slip from his throat, his eyes watering as he clamps his lids shut.

"I'm sorry." Steve says. "I know it hurts."

Thor rests a hand on the back of Loki's neck.

It brings almost instant relief, Loki relaxing immediately, his shoulders slumping at the familiar feeling of safety it brings.

He knows he shouldn't relax. Shouldn't allow himself to feel safe. Not ever. He knows better than that.

But he can't help it now.

Thor has always been his protector.

He sits still and quiet as the Captain tends to his fresh wounds, and old ones reopened by the blast of water Barton had attacked him with. The lacerations along his back had split wide again at the pressure, and it takes all of Loki's strength not to jerk violently each time Steve makes contact.

The good mortal keeps apologizing every time, and Loki wants to tell him he needn't do so. But that would be presumptuous, and worse still, beyond his right.

When at last the Captain has finished, and helped Loki back into a loose fitting tunic, one he says is his own, the garment sliding off his narrow shoulders, as well a pair of similarly flimsy breeches which slip from his waist and down his hips every time he tries to stand, Loki simply wants to hide away someplace. A dark corner where no one will have to look upon him ever again.

Instead, Steve holds one of his hands while Thor takes the other, and they help him with painstaking patience and gentility towards the bed in Tony Stark's "laboratory", as Loki has come to learn it's called.

He is panting breathlessly by the time they reach it, his limbs shaking and weak from the exertion.

"Please..." he starts, gasping. "l-let me... let me lie down."

He would be embarrassed when Thor simply lifts him bodily, easily as he would a child, or a doll, and places him onto his back upon the bed, only he's too relieved to feel anything but gratitude.

"... Thank you." He says faintly, his lids drooping heavily.

All he wants to do now is sleep. Oh, he hasn't slept truly in so long...

"Loki," His eyes come back open at the sound of the Captain calling his name, and turning his bleary gaze up, he finds the man looking worriedly down at him. "I know you want to sleep, and I'm going to let you in just a minute. But I just wanted to, uh, talk to you about something real quick."

Loki blinks, struggling against his exhaustion as he simply nods, too weak now to talk. He doesn't understand why Steve should even feel the need to explain himself. Whatever he chooses, Loki knows it is the way it will be.

"First, I just want to let you know that Clint's off the team. He won't be living here anymore, and so you won't have to worry about him hurting you again." The Captain starts.

Loki thinks how, though Steve's words are sincere in their belief, what he says isn't at all true. If Barton wishes again to hurt him, the man will find a way.

They always do.

He says nothing of his thoughts though, only again nodding, unable to keep his lids open any more.

"Alright." Steve continues gently. "The other thing, and I don't know how you're going to react to this yet, but me and Thor have discussed it, and we think it's a good idea. You need a real doctor, er, healer, that is. And obviously Bruce isn't the right man for the job. Not right now at least."

Loki quails at the mention of the mortal's name, and again he struggles not to show his distress, simply nodding once more, keeping his eyes closed.

"So, we knows some guys. Good people. They're what we call mutants, here on Earth. I mean Midgard. They're both doctors. Names are Hank McCoy and Charles Xavier. They won't be... um... they won't have any kind of problem with you. And they can help you. I've already spoken to them over the telephone and they've agreed to come down and see you. But I'm telling you all this Loki because I want the decision to be yours. If you don't feel comfortable with them, then just say so, and we'll find someone else to help. But maybe you can just talk to them first and see what you think?"

"... What I think?" Loki rasps out after a moment. He hadn't understood half of the Captain's words.

"Y-yeah, just... it's up to you."

Loki wants to laugh at that.

Nothing has been "up to him" in a long, long time.

But he has no energy anymore to talk, or to think, or to do anything but lie there and breathe, and so once more he only nods.

Steve may say something else after that, but if he does, Loki doesn't truly know, as sleep washes in round the corners of his mind, and soon, he isn't there at all.


	16. Chapter 16

Charles Xavier knows little of what to expect as he and Hank McCoy stand outside the room where Thor's younger brother, they've been informed, is being kept.

Though they both had spoken extensively with the Aesir prince and Captain Steven Rogers as to Loki's condition, and what they might find, though it had been explained to them both in blunt and disheartening detail Loki's enslavement over a period of eight years, the treatment he's been subjected to, and the physical and emotional trauma he had suffered, still... Charles knows to make assumptions would be a fool's error. Hank knows it too.

It isn't that Charles hasn't had extensive experience treating patients suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, children and adults alike who have endured the most extreme and horrific suffering imaginable, trauma's almost unspeakable in their brutality.

He's had plenty of that. He knows the delicacy with which he must tread.

It's what Thor had told him of his brother that is currently giving the Professor pause.

"Please, Professor," the god had started, voice entreating. "do not attempt to enter my brother's mind. Not until you have gained his trust sufficiently that he will allow you entry. I say this both for his benefit and your own."

Charles had understood Thor's concerns. It could be an incredibly invasive experience, having a telepath enter your private thoughts, and the Professor knew better than to simply do so with a young man who had suffered the trauma's Loki had. He hadn't been planning on such until the appropriate time.

But Thor's next words were what had taken him briefly off guard.

"Loki is a supremely gifted and powerful sorcerer. The most powerful in all Asgard, save our Father" He'd continued. "You must understand. Even if you wished to enter Loki's thoughts, you could not."

Charles had felt a sensation of incredulity at the statement, both for the fact that it had been explained to him and Hank that Loki's magical powers were, at present, bound and useless, and for the fact that, no one the Professor had ever encountered had successfully kept him from their thoughts. He himself was the most powerful telepath on Earth, and even Thor, in all his great power and will could not prevent him from entering his mind.

"His will is strong." Thor had continued, evidently seeing Charles' confusion and disbelief. "Stronger than you can imagine. And though his magic be bound up within him, chained from external function, still, it is a vital part of my brother's being. Intrinsically woven and connected to the force of his life. It is not a thing separate, not a thing that can be removed from him. To do so would be to kill him. And thus, his magic remains, within him, as powerful as ever. If you attempt to enter his thoughts without his consent, he will not, I assure you, hesitate to push you out, and forcibly. You will find yourself greatly injured, and risk to yourself irreversible damage to your mind."

"Do you mean to say your brother might render the good Professor a vegetable?" Hank had asked, his own voice filled with astonishment and apprehension.

"That is precisely what I mean." Thor had answered, grim faced and serious, and Charles had seen from the glimpse of his thoughts that he meant it completely. He hadn't been bluffing. He hadn't been lying.

Sitting here now, outside the door, hearing no sound from within the small room, Charles feels a very real apprehension of his own.

He can sense Loki's presence, though it is a vague, undefined feeling, and one Charles would be unable to identify if he did not know Loki was there.

And he finds himself nearly overcome with curiosity, foolish though he knows it is, to try and test the claims Thor had made. It should be safe enough, he thinks, to simply push up against Loki's mind, not try and enter it, but simply brush against it and see what sort of resistance he encounters. If only, he thinks, to better understand what sort of challenge he is going to face in helping the young man.

And so, slowly and with great caution, he reaches out his own consciousness, towards the presence on the other side of the door.

When he touches Loki's mind, at first, he gets nothing. Only a blank, soft sensation, like an empty canvas of white. There's some sort of mental barrier, a block, he surmises, keeping him out. He would have to press a little harder to test it.

Unthinkingly, he does, his curiosity again getting the better of him.

He regrets it instantly.

A pain like knives stabbing through his skull and into his brain explodes inside his head, and he's tossed back violently against the back of his chair, a sharp cry slipping involuntarily from his lips as his hands reach up, gripping his temples in agony. The pain last seconds which seem to stretch to eternity.

Somewhere above him, he can hear Hank calling his name in desperate urgency, and as Charles tries to open his eyes to reassure him, the world spins and tilts sickeningly around him, nausea building in the pit of his stomach, threatening him with being ill.

It seems forever before the pain at last begins to ebb, leaving only a throbbing ache in its place, and as the world begins to come back into focus, Charles realizes he's sweating profusely, his breathes heaving in his chest, his frame trembling uncontrollably.

"Professor!" Hank goes on urgently, squatted now before him, his giant, powerful hands gripping Charles' forearms almost painfully in his fear. "Professor, are you alright!? Please, talk to me!"

"I'm al... I'm a-alright..." Charles at last manages, his voice trembling and exhausted. He feels unbelievably weak, like he's just pushed himself to his utmost physical limits, nausea still churning in the pit of his stomach. "I'm alright Hank." He says again, though in truth, he doesn't know if he is.

"What happened!?" Hank presses, reaching a hand up and pressing it to Charles' forehead, feeling his temperature, leaning closer and examining his eyes. "Did you...?"

"I wanted to t-test... to see if what Thor told us w-was t... true." Charles stammers out, his breath still labored and short. "Evidently, it was."

"You tried to enter Loki's mind?" Hank asks, shock and worry thick in his voice.

Charles shakes his head.

"No. I simply brushed up against it, and applied only the slightest pressure to the barriers I found protecting it. That, apparently, was enough." Charles swallows thickly as realization dawns on him. "He would have killed me had I tried breaking through them in any serious attempt."

Hank stares back at him gape-mouthed, disbelieving.

"Surely not." He starts. "Charles, that's impos..."

"Impossible, I know." Charles talks over him. "Yet not. Thor spoke the truth. Whatever we're dealing with in Loki, it's clear to me now he is a being of supreme power, and we must tread carefully. He'll be only the more dangerous if what we've been told is true, and he's been so severely traumatized. He's going to need the most careful and considerate of treatment."

Hank nods, looking fearful and slightly sick.

Recovering at last, Charles manages a smile, reaching out and placing a hand on his friends muscular shoulder.

"Don't worry Hank. We're here to help him. Once Loki understands that, it should be alright."

/

For a moment, Charles thinks there must be some kind of mistake.

Surely not. Surely the wasted and devastated form upon the bed could not have been the same to have so easily and brutally rendered his own powers useless.

The man lying there... he looks more a boy, even, looks barely seventeen years of age, eighteen at most...

Looks like he can't weight more than 90 pounds...

And though he's covered now by loose fitting clothes, his body blocked from view, still, his richly blue face is covered in deep, ugly bruising, both his eyes thickly blackened, spreading well across the bridge of his nose, his right brow split wide, held together only by tight, black stitches, his lips both broken open and caked with dried blood, though it's obvious those wounds too have been cleaned and tended.

He looks helpless, lying there. Weak and vulnerable as a child.

Charles knows it's an absurd assumption, to think that a physical frailty has anything to do with mental strength or inner power.

One need only look at him, bound as he is to a wheelchair, to know such assumptions are false.

Still, it is hard to believe, that such an emaciated and physically broken boy has sitting within him such power as the Professor has never felt.

It's almost frightening, the contrast, and something then strikes Charles with almost overwhelming despair and a feeling of wrongness, to know such an immensely powerful being could also be so violently abused and beaten, so grossly mistreated as to render him such a broken shell.

It's a reminder to the Professor how, no matter how great ones power, it could not always protect you from those who wished you harm, as well he and nearly every mutant on this planet understood. That there were always those who could figure out how to neutralize that power, and submit you wholly to their mercy.

Never had such a truth been more evident to Charles than looking upon the poor child in the bed before them.

"Good Lord." Hank breathes at his side, staring in similar disbelief at Loki, his eyes wide and heartbroken. "I thought... being the brother of Thor, surely, he must be of similar strength and size. But he looks like a child. How could... how could they..."

"I know." Charles answers quietly. "It seems prejudice extends far beyond the borders of our own world and people."

Hank nods silently, disgust and sadness warring in his expression as they, for long minutes, just stare at the sleeping boy.

"Should we remain until he wakes, or stir him now?" Hank asks after a while. "I know from what Steve detailed, that he's in obvious need of quick attention, but..."

"We'll wait." Charles answers. "We don't want to frighten him beyond what's necessary. And besides which, he'll need as much rest as possible."

"Agreed." Hank nods. "The wait shouldn't be so long anyway, if he's been asleep for as many hours as they told us."

"Indeed." Charles says, his eyes resting on Loki, watching as his thin chest rises and falls slowly. The shirt he's wearing hangs down, revealing the bruised, blue skin, and even from the few feet away that they are, he can see the boy's ribs clearly.

It's a horrendous sight, and after a time, the Professor has to look away.

He'll never be used to this, he thinks dismally. He'll never be used to the atrocities prejudice can bring.

/

When Loki wakes, at first, he thinks he is having a nightmare, as he stares dazedly out, and sees standing across from him a giant, blue furred creature walking about in mortal clothes.

The creature is massive. Taller than Thor, and built twice as wide and thick, with immensely large hands and feet which look like they might crush Loki easily as a soft fruit, each, thick finger bearing long, sharp claws.

It's face, strangest of all, is almost cat-like, with a somewhat elongated muzzle, thick whiskers covering the area above its lips, and sharp yellow eyes, it's pupils thin. When it opens it's mouth, Loki can see a set of pronounced, sharp fangs.

Loki thinks sickly for a moment that, perhaps, it is some manner of frost giant, though the creature isn't quite so large. A runt perhaps, like him? But no, that makes little sense either, given there is nothing runtish about the beast. Even through the ridiculous mortal clothes covering its body, the things musculature is plainly apparent, and beyond all that, it looks nothing like any frost giant Loki has ever seen.

And then he realizes the creature is talking, speaking the mortal language of English to an unremarkable looking man seated in an oddly designed chair. Staring at him for long seconds, it becomes apparent to Loki that the hairless man is broken in some way, his legs listing limply to the side where he sits, as if they have no strength at all in them. Useless, he thinks, and Loki's mind is filled with awful imaginings then of what would happen to such a man in Asgard.

His own weakness had been so ill tolerated, used to mock and humiliate him, used, when he was a child, as an excuse to beat him senseless in the training rings.

This pitiful man, were he a god and not a man, would have been made brutal sport of.

Though, too, Loki senses an odd sort of power in the mortal. An incredible strength, held within his mind.

And all at once, it comes to him. A memory made in his unconscious state of sleep.

This man... this weak, pitiful man, he had... he... he had made at attempt on his own mind. Had touched it, tried... tried to enter it... had...

And a familiar feeling of panic swarms him then, closing his throat up, his heart beating viciously hard at once.

A strangled gasp slips past his lips, and the man and creature turn towards him, seeing him, staring.

They mean him harm then. These two, they mean him harm. They mean to make him, as... as Thanos... as the Titan... they mean...

And panic turns to terror, and thought dissolves to pure, driven instinct as he pushes himself up from the bed and scrambles backward, out of it.

His fear is so deep, he realizes nothing of the edge, and a moment later, he's falling, his stomach rising up into his throat, the horror of nothing to grab hold of consuming him.

It ends abruptly in pain as he hits the ground, hard, the wind knocked from his lungs.

But he hasn't the time to worry on it, to let it stop him.

The two are shouting, coming towards him, but Loki doesn't hear their words, doesn't hear what they're saying. He just knows he has to get out, has to get away...

He manages to push himself to his feet, gasping for breath. He turns, eyes searching frantically for the door, for his escape.

He spots it and lurches towards it, ignoring how his legs feel so weak beneath him, threatening any moment to give out.

He makes it two steps before he feels a pair of massively strong arms wrap around him, pulling him back.

His panic explodes, and he begins to struggle violently.

It's the creature... the blue furred thing that has him, and it's... it's so strong... it's... it isn't a man. It isn't a mortal man, it's something else and Loki can't break free, he can't...

"Hank, wait..." the broken mortal yells, but again, Loki can't make out the words, his horror too much.

He has to get free, he has to, he has to...

He explodes, a scream tearing from his lips as he grabs hold the beasts arms and tears them from him, throwing the creature off with a violent burst of strength, and he's free.

He lurches forward, towards the door, stumbling as he reaches it. There's no time to open it, no time...

He slams into it, tearing it clean from its hinges, and bursting through.

And he doesn't stop. He can't stop. He just keeps running.

There are voices all around him, loud, blaring horns and cacophonous yelling, but he just keeps going.

He has to find Thor... has to find Steve... they... they'll protect him. They'll keep him safe.

He crashes through another door, this one more strongly built than the last, metal and thick, and he stumbles into the wall opposite it, out in the corridor, pain ratcheting up and down his shoulder where he'd slammed into the thing.

Somehow, he manages to keep his footing, and he spins, running blind and directionless down the corridor.

"Thor!" He cries thoughtlessly, feeling so much as he did when he was a child, and the other boys would chase him, and he would cry out for his big brother. "Thor!"

And then, suddenly, he's there, stepping out from the moving box which carries persons up or down, Steve and Natasha Romanov and the man of Iron stepping out behind him.

And relief so powerful washes through him, so great it's near painful, as he throws himself at his brother, his fearful energy sapping away instantly, and he falls, crumpling to the ground.

Thor rushes towards him, catching him and bringing him to his chest, and Loki clings back, gasping, shaking without control.

Whatever happens after that, he doesn't know.

Because Thor is here. And Steve. And it's alright. It's alright, so long as they're there.


	17. Chapter 17

Charles can hardly believe what it is he's seeing as Loki, this emaciated, withered away seeming child, struggles briefly against Hank's hold, Hank, who Charles knows is only trying to help, only trying to calm Thor's brother before he hurts himself further, and who Charles knows as well to be intensely strong, before, with a swell of sudden physical power seemingly impossible to his wasted and frail form, Loki throws the giant mutant from him as easily as a he might a child.

Hank, all six hundred and more pounds of him, goes flying back, crashing hard into the now abandoned bed, bringing the whole thing, frame and all, down with him.

Charles looks back at him, crying out his name in alarm and fear, seeing Hank struggle for a moment as he pushes himself up, obviously dizzy and stunned, when his attention is drawn back around by the sound of wood and metal splitting and tearing, and he sees Loki crashing through the room's door like it was made out of paper.

Good God, he thinks, shocked, it shouldn't be possible. Shouldn't be possible for this frail boy to be so strong.

Only very clearly he is, Charles' eyes widening more as he hears another, loud crash, his ears filling with the rending of steel.

He had no idea. He knew the Aesir were powerful beings... actual gods, even, with godly abilities. He'd seen good Thor in action enough times to know how of the power they could hold, though he understood too that Thor was, among his kind, one of the most powerful, and that not all possessed his strength.

He hadn't thought at all, when he'd lain eyes on Loki, lying there in that bed, so seemingly small and weak...

But that had been his own fault, his own, foolish assumptions, and he thinks now how disrespectful that had been, to just assume, because the boy looked helpless, that he was.

"Hank, are you...?" he starts, turning back to his friend, relieved to see Hank standing upright now, holding his head and shaking it.

"I'm alright." He tells Charles, looking towards him. "You need to go after him. I'll be right behind you."

"Are you sure?" Charles questions, not entirely convinced.

Hank only nods, smiling briefly.

"He's stronger than he looks." He says, and Charles gives him a weak smile in return. That's good enough for him to know his friend is alright, and so he turns, wheeling himself as quickly as he's able after Thor's panicked brother.

He's only slightly taken aback when he sees the gaping hole in the metal walling, the space where the door had once been now empty.

That was six inch reinforced steel, he thinks dizzily as he makes his way carefully through the new exit. He's going to have to be careful, he realizes. Someone that strong, and that frightened, could easily accidentally kill him.

It's as he makes it out into the hallway that he hears a ragged and broken voice crying out desperately.

"Thor!" It screams, and he realizes a moment after that it's Loki, as he sees the boy stumbling weakly down the corridor, barely keeping his footing.

It's obvious he's running on fumes, and to Charles' dismay, he can see blots of red seeping through the thin garment of a shirt Loki is wearing, his wounds obviously reopening in the commotion.

This is his fault, Charles thinks dismally. Loki must have sensed his earlier attempt to test the barriers of his mind and panicked when he saw him. The sight of Hank couldn't have helped to reassure him either. Hank was an absolutely stellar and fine man, kind to a fault and gentle. But, it couldn't be denied, his appearance was anything but, ferocious and frightening looking. To someone like Loki, to someone who had been so horribly abused for so long, Hank would appear nothing so much as terrifying.

They hadn't thought this through at all. Not as they should have. Charles had allowed his curiosity with Loki to impair him judgment, and it was now Loki who was paying the price.

"Loki, please, wait!" He calls after the boy, but Loki either doesn't hear him, or isn't listening, as he cries out again for his brother.

It's an overwhelming relief to the Professor then when, moments later, he sees the Thunder god come stepping from the elevator, the Captain as well as Natasha Romanov and Tony Stark following behind.

His relief, though, is nothing as compared to Loki's, who's strength seems to abandon him all at once at the sight of his brother, and he crumples to the ground, Thor barely having the time to catch him.

Charles feels his heart lurch awfully inside his chest at the sight of the young god clinging to Thor desperately, burying his face to his shoulder, shaking violently.

He hears Hank emerging from the lab at last, standing at his back.

"What happened?!" Steve starts, crouching down beside Thor and Loki, reaching out for Loki's shoulder, placing a hand along it. "Loki, what happened?"

The young god stammers out shakily, the words muffled against Thor's shoulder, and Charles can't make them out.

"It was our fault." Hank supplies quickly, stepping forward.

Loki, Charles notices, startles at the sound of Hank's voice, clinging tighter still to his brother.

"More specifically it was mine." Charles says, staying where he is, not wishing to frighten the boy further.

Thor and Steve look up towards him, Natasha and Tony standing back, not moving.

"What do you mean?" Steve asks, and Charles doesn't miss the note of warning in his voice.

Charles sighs, preparing for the heated emotion he's sure his admittance will bring.

"I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me. Thor, your warning about your brother's mental strength spurred me on into a desire to see it for myself."

The words draw an immediate reaction from the god.

"You attempted entry into my brother's mind!?" He growls, and a loud crash of thunder can be heard echoing from outside, through the walls.

"No." Charles is quick to explain. "I did not try to enter his thoughts. I attempted only to feel the barriers which he holds in place. That was enough to make me understand not to try it again."

"If you hurt Loki," Thor begins, his eyes shockingly, unnaturally blue then, alive, Charles realizes, with electrical discharge.

"I did not. I swear to you." Charles replies, keeping his voice calm and steady.

He might be able to put Thor down if the god decided to attack him. But only for a very short span of time, if that at all. The Professor had been inside Thor's mind only once before, and had felt a strength of will unlike anything he had ever experienced. At least, until now, with his younger brother.

Whatever control he attempted to assert over the Thunderer, Charles knew, wouldn't last for long. With Loki, the attempt at all would be suicide.

"I want only to help your brother Thor." He goes on, sincerely.

Blessedly, the Captain places a hand on Thor's shoulder, bringing his attention away.

"It's alright Thor." Steve says. "He means it. It was just an accident."

"And accidents can have with them dire consequences." Thor replies, his voice hard, keeping his eyes locked on Charles and Hank alike.

"I take full responsibility." Charles tells him. "This was my error, and you have my solemn oath Thor, it will not happen again."

"It had best not." Thor says.

"What are they?" Loki's voice suddenly drifts up from where he remains huddled against his brother. "Thor, w-what are they? They are not mortals..."

"Nay, they are brother." Thor replies, finally pulling his eyes from the two mutants, looking at Loki. "They are merely a more evolved genus."

"Homo superior." Hank supplies. "We're human. Simply humans with advanced capabilities. Er, you might call them advanced senses, though obviously to say so would be a vast oversimplification. I myself specialize in mutant genetics."

Loki turns then, peering at them, still clinging tight to his brother, though Charles can see real fascination in the young god's eyes.

"Mutants?" He asks after a moment.

"It's what generally we're referred to as." Charles answers this time. "As Hank said, it has to do with genetic mutations. Differences at the cellular level which lead to us developing enhanced abilities, either physical or, as you know of me already Loki, mental."

Loki stares back at him for long seconds, studying him intently, and, mercifully, Charles thinks, the boy at last begins to relax somewhat, his grip on Thor not quite so desperate, though he doesn't yet let him go.

"... I understand little of what you say." Loki at last answers, turning more fully towards them. "And here I once again make a ff... fool of myself."

"It's okay little buddy. We can't all be geniuses." Tony starts, and Natasha smacks him hard across the shoulder.

"Ow!" Tony yelps, but goes ignored.

"Please don't worry Loki." Charles tells the god, smiling what he hopes is in a reassuring way. "We'll explain all of this to you when you're ready. Right now, all you need know is that we're here to help you. My names is Charles Xavier. I'm a teacher at a school for young children with special needs. And this is Hank McCoy. He also teaches at my school, and is a doctor of medicine and genetics. We want to help make you well again."

Something in his words makes Loki's expression, for a moment, crumple, and he looks away, turning his face towards the ground, his frame visibly trembling.

"Well." He echos the words distantly, and he sounds almost puzzled, like he doesn't understand what it means.

"Which you aren't going to get by standing out here." Hank says, sounding somewhat urgent. "He should really be in bed still. And if possible, I'd like to look over his injuries and run some tests."

"Right." Steve starts, turning towards Loki. "Loki, is it alright if we get you back to bed? You need to rest, Hank's right."

Loki looks up then, first at Steve, then his gaze turns back towards Hank, staring with open curiosity.

"Were you born looking as you do?" He asks suddenly, all trace of fear seemingly gone from him as at last he lets go of Thor.

Hank looks momentarily taken aback by the question, blinking silently a long, few seconds.

Loki continues staring back at him, an almost hopeful gaze in his red eyes.

"Not... exactly." Hank at last answers.

Loki's face seems almost to fall then.

"Oh..." he breathes out, his voice trailing off into nothing.

"It's a bit of a long story." Hank goes on, evidently seeing the boy's despondency. "I'll tell it to you later?"

Loki only nods, saying nothing more.

And Charles wonders then if it's anything to do with Loki's own appearance.

When last the Professor had lain eyes on the young god, he had appeared with skin like that of a Caucasian male, though very, very pale.

Thor had told them but little regarding his brother's now blue, patterned skin and red eyes. Only a vague explanation that it was Loki's "true form", beneath the glamor of his Aesir skin.

It's something he thinks he's going to need to address then, when the time is right, if he's gleaning correctly from Loki's nearly disappointed expression.

Charles has seen that before too. Has met enough young mutants who, because they looked different, maybe, according to everyone else, looked strange, felt incredibly isolated and alone, leaving them deeply depressed and riddled with feelings of self-hatred.

But now isn't the time to discuss it. Right now, as Hank had said, Loki needed above all else simply to rest and recover physically.

All the rest of it could come later.

/

Steve knocks softly along the recently replaced door before opening it, poking his head in and looking towards the bed.

He spots Loki right away, sitting up, propped against the pillows, an open book in his lap. He's bare chested, his wounds newly and better tended to by Hank, freshly cleaned, re-wrapped and restitched.

The bruising can't be better treated than simply applying ice packs and giving them time.

Somehow, Loki hadn't suffered any broken bones, though from the tests Hank had run, he'd been suffering some, thankfully minor internal bleeding and bruising, as well as laboring under a number of infections, both viral and bacterial.

How Loki had been continuing to operate at all, Hank had said, was something of a miracle.

Given the fact that Loki was of an entirely different species, both from Thor and themselves alike, the doctor hadn't been too keen on administering any, known antibiotics until he'd been able to conduct further research into Loki's blood, analyze it and then determine the best course of action.

That had been two days prior, and Steve had just gotten off the phone with Hank, relieved to hear that he'd been able already to come up with a safe and effective drug which, according to the doctor, should serve as an all purpose treatment in tackling Loki's numerous infections.

Beyond the physical help the god had been in such dire need of, Charles had been light in his treatment so far, simply making a better introduction of himself to Loki, and asking a few, very impersonal questions.

Steve had appreciated that, and so too had Loki, he thought, if the relief the god had shown was any indication.

The Professor had understood that Loki wasn't yet ready to start talking about all that had happened. Steve had seen enough doctors in his time tasked with treating guys suffering from shell shock, pushing too hard, too soon, and it had only ever ended in disaster, more often than not damaging the men further.

It was that strong judgment and thoughtfulness that had given Steve the confidence to call Charles in the first place and ask him to help.

Things had gone well, save the incident before, and the Professor's mistake in testing the boundaries of Loki's mental safe-guards.

Steve didn't really understand all of it very well, magic and telepathy and how the two might be related. Charles had spoken with both a kind of fascination and awe about Loki when the Captain later asked the Professor for a more detailed explanation of what had happened, and Charles had proceeded to talk a whole bunch of jargon which Steve hadn't really been able to keep up with.

The gist though, which he'd had come away with, was that, apparently, Loki was extraordinarily powerful. Powerful enough, Charles had gone on, with all of the heavy implication he could muster, that with his magical abilities unleashed and unchecked, as they had been during the invasion of eight years ago, Loki could have, with an almost embarrassing ease, defeated each and every member of the Avengers team. He could have, Charles had said, if he'd truly wanted, leveled their entire planet, never mind taken over it. To do so, the Professor had explained, would have been child's play for Loki.

Again, the implication was obvious, and it was something Steve himself had already started to suspect, after having had a number of conversations and interactions with Loki himself.

Loki, who seemed to him, now, so incredibly gentle and thoughtful and, at times even, kind. Who seemed nothing at all like the raving, mad lunatic who had tried to subjugate the Earth.

Loki looks back at him now, a half-hearted smile playing along his lips, face lined vaguely in discomfort.

He's in pain.

They'd tried administering pain killers to him, but Loki's metabolism was so fast, it would have burnt right through the drugs, just like it did with Thor. Beyond that, apparently his magic had detected the foreign substance as something hostile, and done away with it from his system in an instant.

Loki had told them it was alright. That he was used to the pain.

Steve hadn't felt so convinced.

"Hey," the Captain calls out to him now. "how you doin' in here?"

Loki struggles a moment to sit up more fully, closing the book in his lap and motioning for Steve to enter with his hand.

"I am well." He answers, his voice dry and thin sounding. "And you Captain? How fare thee this evening?"

Steve takes that as an invitation to come in, closing the door softly behind him and moving towards the single chair by the bed.

"I'm good." He smiles, taking a seat and scooting a little closer. "Just got back from a run."

Loki nods, looking back at him intently.

"You do this to keep good conditioning?"

Steve smiles, nodding.

"Yeah." He says. "It helps with endurance. You guys... don't need to exercise?" He asks, genuinely curious.

Loki blinks back at him, for a moment seeming confused, before understanding seems to light in his eyes, and he looks away, half-heartedly shrugging.

"We train, yes..." he says, his voice soft. "we start very young. Very young..." he repeats, and his voice seems distant then, as though lost in memory.

He falls silent for a long, few moment, before seemingly coming back to himself, shaking his head.

"Though no such thing has been a part of my life for long years now." He finishes quietly.

Steve feels his heart sink, realizing the insensitivity of his question, unintentional though it had been.

He opens his mouth to apologize, feeling foolish and unkind, but Loki takes away his chance when he continues talking.

"Thank you," he starts.

When Steve looks back at him questioningly, uncertain, Loki goes on, nodding towards the book in his lap.

"I'm enjoying it greatly." He says. "I've almost finished now."

Steve realizes then it's the book he'd given to Loki earlier that afternoon, "The Hunchback of Notre-Dame".

"You're almost done?" Steve asks, astonished, and Loki nods.

"Aye. The writing is very beautiful." He says.

Again, for a long moment, Loki falls quiet, seeming to think.

"I feel badly for the priest." He says eventually. "He begins a good man, though lonely and misunderstood. Watching him lose his way is... disheartening. Though perhaps the reader is not meant to feel such for him..."

Again, Loki's voice trails off, and again, Steve isn't sure what to say.

"No, I... I felt the same way, when I read it." He finally finds the words. "Frollo dedicates his whole life to helping others, and then they grow up and he... he doesn't have anyone to take care of anymore."

"Aye," Loki seems to brighten, looking at Steve with almost hopeful eyes. "a man of passions, who's interests cause other to look upon him with distrust, though their ignorance blinds them to his better nature."

Steve smiles.

"I'm glad you like it. I've got a lot of books I can give you, if you want more. Or if there's something specific you're looking for, I can pick it up for you."

If Loki's eyes had seemed bright before, they positively glow now, widening like a child.

"W-would you?" He asks, and there is so much naked hope in his voice, almost desperation, that Steve feels suddenly overcome by a feeling of sadness.

"Absolutely." He answers, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'll bring a bunch of stuff down. And you can make a list if there's anything you want."

"It would..." Loki starts, then pauses, and Steve can't help but notice the way the god's hands seem to tremble where they're rested in his lap. "It would mean a great deal to me." He finally continues. "I... I haven't been a-allowed books in a... in a long while. Haven't been permitted to... to read at all."

"Oh," Steve breathes stupidly, even as he feels his heart crash to the pit of his stomach, his head spinning with dizzying realization. Loki's open and blunt statement reminding him again of just how horrific the god's life has been, for so long now.

Not even being allowed a book... not allowed to read at all...

Even prisoner's were allowed the chance to keep their minds occupied, allowed to stimulate their brains and allowed some kind of entertainment.

And with as smart as Loki is, as fast as his brain obviously works...

Steve can't even begin to imagine how torturous that must have been, how the boredom alone must have eaten away at him.

"When I was young," Loki says, looking away from him now, his long fingers fidgeting with the material of the blankets covering his legs. "most often my greatest solace would be found in books. I looked on them as one might a good companion. Found in them distraction and relief from whatever ill had befallen me that day. They did not judge, books. They did not laugh or mock or... or find me wanting for my weakness. I could often forget how sick I was by engrossing myself in their pages and words, and did not fear their derision."

He pauses again, running a thin hand over the book's cover, feeling the cloth binding.

"I've longed deeply for such distraction again, for a long time now." He at last goes on.

And suddenly, without warning, there are tears, thick in Loki's eyes, and he turns his face from Steve, wiping clumsily at them with the heel of his palm.

"Loki!" The Captain starts, alarmed. "Are you alright?!"

He reaches out, placing a hand on Loki's shoulder, finding the smaller man stiff with tension.

"Forgive me," Loki says, keeping his face turned aside. "I shame myself again. It is only..."

He sucks in a shaking breathe, again wiping at his eyes.

"Loki," Steve starts, his worry increasing as long seconds pass, and Loki says nothing, struggling clearly to control his tears.

"I was once a prince." He says suddenly, and his breath breaks off into a sharp and bitter laugh. "I never... never had the popularity of my brother. Never commanded the same respect o... or admiration, but... but still, when I would pass any wi... within the Kingdom, they would bend their neck and put fist over heart for me. Th... they showed deference. There were... there were of course always those who... wh-who found themselves bold enough to speak their dislike behind my back, and I knew of them well enough, but... never would they dare to my face and... and when I gave command, they would obey without hesitation. When I spoke they... they listened with full attention and gave me no question. They..."

Once more, Loki pauses, and Steve can see him swallow thickly several times, tears still thick in his eyes.

"I knew them," he goes on finally. "th-those men... those men who... the royal guard, they'd once... they'd once been charged personally with my protection. Assigned to my specific protection..." again, Loki laughs, the same, bitter sound, almost astonished now. "It was those men most of all who found pleasure in my humiliation. Men I'd thought... who I had believed thought well of me.

"... But I am a fool." He trails off, a sharp shudder working through his frame. "I have always been a fool..."

Steve feels almost sick with weariness as Loki's words fully register in his mind.

He'd thought of that, vaguely. Thought of it in a detached sense. Everything that had been happening when he had been in Asgard hadn't left him time to think more deeply on it.

That Loki was a prince. Had been a prince. Had once been of a higher station, a higher class, than nearly every citizen of his realm, only the King and Queen boasting a greater authority, a greater power.

To go from that... to go from the loftiest heights, the greatest position one could find themselves occupying within a society, to then, suddenly, finding yourself with no place in that society at all... finding yourself considered as less than nothing by all those who had before knelt to your authority, had submitted to your command...

Steve could hardly conceive of that kind of hardship.

He'd always come from nothing himself, grew up poor with little hope of ever achieving anything much better.

And so when he'd finally gotten out... when he'd been given an opportunity to become something more... something better... even if that had only been a soldier in an army... he'd taken it and felt happy with it, felt fulfilled and successful.

Things hadn't stayed that simple for long, of course. And Steve had wound up understanding pain and loss in a way he never would have imagined.

But still, he'd become something more.

Loki had become something immeasurably less than what he'd been.

That kind of loss... loss of wealth, loss of station... loss respect, loss of dignity... loss of any self-worth at all...

Steve couldn't imagine it, couldn't understand what it felt like...

Looking at Loki now, seeing him sitting there, shaking, unable to stop the tears from slipping down his bruised and battered face...

Devastation.

That was the only word Steve could think then, looking at the god. Devastation.

And he feels so inadequate then, feels useless, helpless.

A familiar helplessness... not being able to help those he cares for... Steve feels his stomach churn.

"I'm sorry." He blurts out, not knowing what else to say. Reaching out, he rests a hand on Loki's bony shoulder. "I'm sorry." He repeats. "For everything."

Loki shakes his head, wiping again at his eyes.

"It is no fault of yours Captain. Only my own. You have shown me more... more kindness in the short days I have been with you than I have known in many years. More than I deserve. Please, do not... do not let my woe burden you down."

"It isn't a burden." Steve answers quickly. "Loki, it isn't. I... there... there isn't much I can do about the past. I can't... can't change what's been done to you but... Loki, I promise you... I give you my word, that from now on, you're going to be treated with dignity and respect. Because that is what you deserve. Alright? Nobody is ever going to humiliate you again. Not under my watch. Okay?"

Loki looks back at him, his eyes filled with that same mix of uncertainty and awful, heartbreaking gratitude, like he can't believe anyone would treat him with even the smallest bit of kindness.

"Okay?" Steve asks again.

"... Oh... kay..." Loki finally answers.

He doesn't sound like he believes it at all, but it's going to have to be enough for now.

Steve is just going to have to prove it to him then, he thinks.

He's just going to have to show Loki how much he means his word.


End file.
